Have A Nice Trip
by TheChildGrim
Summary: Before the destruction of the magical population, Magic changes a few things and sends Her Chosen to live in another world where She has no control. Years later, a helicopter arrives in Qatar...
1. Prepare for The End

**Summary**: Before the destruction of the magical population, Magic changes a few things and sends Her Chosen to live in another world where She has no control. Years later, a helicopter arrives in Qatar...

**World**: Harry Potter Book 1 and (eventually) Transformers Movie/Novel-verse (and extra characters if I feel like it)

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter (nor - eventually - Transformers), I just like using the characters to cure my boredom. This applies to every following chapter.

_Chapter 1: Prepare For The End_

Magic was used to being called by many names and assumed as many different entities. One of the most famed was Fate, though the description was not entirely accurate. While Magic could change small happenings (all prophecies _did_ end up self-fulfilling) and predict _some_ events, She did not always know what was to come; only when Her power fluxed, pulling in the knowledge from Her world's energy did She gain foresight. It was for this reason that events appearing certain to occur would suddenly go awry. Such was the case of Voldemort's end by the hand of a child. Her special creation, little one, descendant, protégé. Her Chosen.

Yet, not a year later, after watching the treatment of Her Chosen and the survival of the tainted one who should have died, another of Her knowledge bursts came into being. The destruction of Her world by the hand of the magic-enhanced humans.

Devastated, She formulated a plan to drain the wizards and witches of Her power, in effect killing them. It would not be soon enough to save all of Her creations, but most of them would survive.

Throughout her planning, Magic's mind continually drifted back to Her Chosen, the one who was to be pure, intelligent, giving, manipulated, and used in vain to stop the end of the "Magic World" as seen by the wizards and witches. No. She could not allow that. There would be enough death without that factor.

* * *

A pair of caramel brown eyes watched as an older man fiddled around with something laid out on an old picnic table. Every few days, a new object would be brought from wherever and taken to the table to be dismantled, examined, and put together again. Sometimes the man would become excited for one reason or another and babble about how interesting and inventive the creators were. Other times, the objects would not work correctly, frustrating the man and causing him to leave for a long while. It was for this reason that these eyes were waiting.

Another few minutes passed by as the man's grumbling turned into growling, skin pale to red, movements from smooth to jerky, and then, with a defeated huff, Arthur Weasley left the table, left the yard and, after grabbing his coat, left the Burrow.

The two spies grinned and revealed themselves, moving eagerly toward the unattended work bench.

"What do you think it's meant to do, George?" asked the one wearing a blue sweater.

"I dunno, Fred. Maybe it can blow things up? It looks a bit like a gun," said the other, a gold-orange wool scarf wrapped around his neck.

The Weasley Twins had not become infamous in their mischief and so did not have the watchful eye of their parents and siblings following their every move, which suited them just fine. At seven years old, their curiosity was reaching its peak. But when at one time they would have experimented with potions and spells to commit their creativity - a nudge, subtle and unseen, caused the two to focus instead on what their father did, branching away from that initial path. The result was a fascination with muggle objects such as the soon fixed megaphone.

"HELLOO. CAN YOU HEAR ME OVER THERE? YES, YOU, IN LONDON!"

"It's not that loud, George."

"Enough to shock Percy awake, though, yes?"

Fred was the first to actually fix one of the muggle devices when he was just over 4 years old. It was a 2XL Robot, an educational toy. It wasn't controlled by magic but by wiring and cogs and cylinder objects he later learned were called batteries. The two brothers had then taken to swiping other projects their father brought home just to see and understand how they worked. Their mother had never said it directly (though their father certainly did) but she always implied how amazing it was that muggles survived without magic.

They disagreed. What the muggles did made sense. The wheels aren't moving? Align the axel connecting them. Something won't turn on? Check the wiring. Need an energy source? Use the environment: wind, water, heck, even what was basically condensed lightning! And anybody could do it if only they paid attention, asked why and how and went through with it. Arthur Weasley wanted to know what muggle things were for and maybe enchant them, "perfect" them with magic. That was why, at least to the twins, Arthur could not always make things work. He intentionally performed magic around things, breaking them instead of using them as they were meant to be. Understanding them as they were.

And as the years would pass, the brothers would continue to question many things.

* * *

******Yes, the bar says TFxHP but that won't be happening for a few chapters so don't get too excited, okay?

Ask questions if you're confused at any point and I'll try to clarify it in a PM or (if it's repeated enough) at the end of the next chapter. Also, I'm American so expect the UK English dialogue and terms to be not... very... English-y.

And don't worry, I actually have notes on many more chapters, not just this one.


	2. Disruption

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter (nor - eventually - Transformers), I just like using the characters (and certain quotes at the end of this chapter) to cure my boredom. This applies to every following chapter.

"Speaking"_  
_

_Flashback_

_*Twins silent speaking*_

_Chapter 2 : Disruption_

At exactly 2:32 pm, 3 knocks sounded from an average home on an average street, a woman answering an average door soon after.

The twins weren't sure of what to make of the woman. She opened the door calmly, dressed in a plain red sundress, a fake simpering smile already plastered on her thin face. Her beady eyes attempted to show a kindness as she looked down from her giraffe neck to eye the two smiling children on her porch.

George's shoulder bumped his brother's. _*You ask her.*_

Fred's eyes darted to the left at his brother then upward. *_I did it last house* _

George's head ducked a bit as he cleared his throat once. *_But she's creepyyy.*_

Fred rocked forwards on his heels. _*This was your idea.*_

"Did you two want something?" came the high pitched, sickly sweet voice of the woman.

"Er, yes. I'm Jeff and this is my brother John. We're looking for donations – "

"I'm afraid I do not have any spare change, so – "

George quickly stepped forward before Fake-Lady shut the door on them. "We're not looking for money, it's for the local charity. Toys and stuff for kids to play with. Even broken ones."

Fred moved alongside his twin, scuffing the side of his shoe. _*'Even the broken ones'?* _His posture straightened, smile still in place. *_Does that not sound suspicious to you?*_

"It would be nice of you, but if you don't we can just go to the next house and – "

"**NO!**" The two snapped ramrod straight, eyes wide. Beady eyes darted to neighboring houses before pulling on another, more business-like, smile. "There's no reason, my dudders does have some old toys he stopped playing with in his toy room. Come inside while I go and look for some…appropriate toys."

The brothers hesitantly followed her into a small kitchen and sat down while Fake-Lady lightly stomped up the staircase. They ducked into a two person huddle.

"I still say she's creepy." Fred rolled his eyes.

"Well that's obvious, but, again, this was your idea."

"Yes, but I didn't know we'd be knockin' on the door of a mad woman."

"She's not mad. Just sort of, er, worried about… appearances, that's it!"

"If she was worried 'bout that sort of thing, she'd do something about coverin' that horse face o' hers."

Snicker.

The twins paused. In unison, they turned toward the hall and stared at the closed door of the innocent looking cupboard across from them.

"You don't suppose the muggles got a boggart in there?" Fred stared flatly at his twin. George shifted in his seat before addressing the closed door. "Oh, dear Thing-in-the-cupboard, are you a person or a boggart?"

A moment passed where the boys sat listening to the shuffling of Fake-Lady upstairs, then, silently, the small door carefully opened to reveal half the face of a boy younger than them by a few years. He was thin and pale with pitch black hair, his bright green eyes warily darting upward before focusing on the two.

George tapped the tabletop once and the twins exchanged glances. _*Do you see?*_

The boy appeared half starved with too big, well-worn clothes on him and looked nothing like the Fake-Lady, and oddly paranoid if the constant glances upstairs were any sign. And not to mention…

"Emeralds, is that cupboard your _bedroom_?"

Before the newly dubbed Emeralds could do more than grimace, the sounds of quick, not-quite stomping feet reached their ears and the boy was once again hidden behind the blank cupboard door.

"Here you are: a stuffed toy, board game, and a Gameboy for the dear children. That is good, yes?" George squinted at Fake-Lady, trying to will a family resemblance between her and the kid in the closet. Fred ignored him and nodded.

"Yes, that's great! Thank you so much – "

"What's 'Dudders' look like?"

Fake-Lady stared, confused, at the squinting twin while Fred pressed his lips together, his head shifting slightly left. _*Shut up. Not now.*_

"We were planning to go to the park with Dad later. I want to say 'thank you' if I see him there." Fred's hand laid flat on the table, lips still pressed. _*Liar. Shut up.*_

Fake-Lady looked nervous for a moment before her polite, pasty smile appeared. "My Dudders, Dudley, is very polite. He is a bit taller than you. Short blonde hair and bright blue eyes and a bit tan. He also has some muscle on him, takes after his father, you see."

George's mouth twitched up. _*Spoiled Porker then.*_

"And he's our age?"

"Well, he's almost 6 – "

"Do you have any other children?"

Instead of confusion, as Fred expected, Fake-Lady seemed to have sucked on an unseen lemon. Her jaw set, she faced George. "No. Just my Dudders. You have your donation, so please… continue your collecting." With that, she ushered them out of the house and not-quite slammed the door.

George turned to his silent twin. "We're coming back later, aren't we?"

"Definitely."

* * *

It had been two weeks since the twin boys had conned Petunia; a short but nice disruption in the monotony of life with the Dursleys. After Vernon had discovered him reading Dudley's books in the "toy room" three months before hand, and subsequently locking the door, he had begun to feel unbelievably bored. He'd even begun reading the ingredients of the food products in the cabinets and the summaries on movie cases along with counting the tiles on the kitchen and bathroom floors: 573 (a tile behind the toilet was missing). And now, he was once again going stir-crazy.

In one of the books he had read, A Guide to Improving Memory, the author had stated the amazing possibilities brought to those who had eidetic or photographic memory. At this point, Harry found the "gift" to be more annoying than helpful, mainly because his options for using it were limited to the Dursley household which included no fiction or higher level books besides the How To series. Bluntly, he was far beyond anything his dear Aunt, Uncle, and cousin would ever get to.

Recently, he had taken to going through and organizing his memories - as far back as possible. Four days after the Twin Incident, he managed to remember all the way back to his second Halloween. He had nightmares afterward.

Safe to say he did not wish to take any more looks into his past. Not yet at least. The fear of that black cloaked man and his killing green light would only hold him back for so long before his curiosity and need to see and hear his mother overrode it. Despite his refusal to look back, Harry had still learned many things from the memory of that night.

For one, he was able to see one of his parents and their killer (drunk driving accident his foot). In that, he discovered there was apparently some sort of supernatural culture which caused their deaths and made his current relatives' hatred and underlying fear of him a bit more understandable. Not to mention why exactly he was –

The front door creaked open and closed, a pair of feet confidently padding to a stop before his cupboard. A pair of children's feet. While the Dursleys were on vacation.

Harry's green eyes widened in disbelief when the intruder knocked the rhythm to "Shave and a Haircut" on the cupboard door. A moment passed as he stared incredulously at the door before finishing the tune with two taps. The lock clicked and the door swung open without pause -

"'Ello again, Emeralds! We're busting you out!" The twins were back. The one who spoke still wore that bright golden-orange scarf flung across his shoulders, a large, expectant grin filled his face, brown eyes brightly looking into his own.

"He's not in a prison, George." Harry turned his attention to the other, apparently more serious twin who was glaring at the inside of his cupboard. "Although this certainly seems to be a close comparison."

A moment passed where none of the three spoke, the twins eventually focusing on the ever silent, green eyed child. Finally, Harry opened his mouth -

"You speak very well for children under 10."

- and promptly stuck his metaphorical foot into it. The excitable one, "George" simply grinned at the blunt statement.

"Right back at you, Emeralds! How old are you anyway? Four? Never mind that, let us introduce our selves."

"I am five and two months. And let us not. How did you get in here? The door is locked."

"Well we _un_locked it of course." At Harry's raised brow, the other twin smacked the back of George's head and moved forward, pulling out a tool kit.

"Locking picking isn't that hard once you get the hang of it..."

Glancing between the two con artist/ infiltrator brothers, Harry decided to review his memories of this conversation for understanding at a later date. "Harry."

"Fred. Weasley." Fred motioned to the chipper twin. "You've guessed that he's George, yes?"

"Freddie's older if you haven't guessed_ that_." George smiled innocently at the elder's glare. Suddenly, he perked up and turned a mock-serious face to him. "You aren't _really_ related to that fakish Horse-woman are you, Harry?"

Huh. He wasn't sure if he would ever become accustomed to having another share his opinions, even something as small as appearances. "Unfortunately, I am. My mother's sister. I don't share her name though. I'm Harry 'Potter', not Dursley."

* * *

*_Did we hear that right?*_

Fred and George and probably every wizard born child knew the story of the Boy-Who-Lived, defeater of You-Know-Who, savior of the wizarding world, and, apparently, neglected-by-muggles 'Harry Potter, not Dursley.'

But what was he _doing_ here? There were rumors of him living in a mansion, being trained by Aurors, living it up. Well, George supposed he would have a few questions for those people who set out such claims since this was certainly _not_ "living it up" so much as living in a ...cupboard. Even thinking it was ridiculous. But aside from that, surely -

"Harry, do you know who you are? What you are?" Fred's voice almost wavered as his wide brown eyes tried to comprehend the situation. The younger boy furrowed his brows, usually a cute gesture for a boy his age, but for some reason seemed... damning on the kid.

"Are you apart of that supernatural community like my parents? The one that kills with green light?"

After explaining the story of The-Boy-With-Far-Too-Many-Hyphens, the trio of children had left the Dursley household - Harry having to assure the twins that his relatives were on a three day trip and would, therefore, not notice his absence - and snuck into a muggle library at Harry's insistence. They now sat in large bean bag chairs in the children's section and tried to make sense of what would happen next.

The twins soon had a strong respect for the younger boy's memory and blunt and sometimes brutal honesty. Really, they shouldn't have so thoroughly encouraged him to speak his mind because the green eyed boy truly took the phrase to heart. Not removing his nose from a rather large book on... 'computing the 20th century', Harry spoke.

"I'm not _seriously_ called The-Boy-Who-Lived all the time am I?"

George blinked. "Actually, yes. It's sort of frightening when you think about it. Everyone knows your name without a thought."

Fred glanced between the two before clapping his hands. "Alright, we know what is and isn't and about your...relatives. Who should we tell?"

"No one." George's brows rose up, quickly flitting half-lidded eyes to Fred. _*How anti-climactic*_

"What do you mean? We have to tell someone! You're being abused, neglected. You didn't even -... You would have entered the wizarding world at 11. For school. And you wouldn't know anything about...about Death Eaters or the war or _anything_! You could've died from accidentally committing a faux pas!" Green eyes gave a dull glare from behind the book.

"I have eidetic memory, I have already told you that I remember That Night. What makes you think I do not remember just who it was that dropped me off at the Dursley's house?" Fred's eyes widened, but before he could ask, Harry continued on in a more annoyed tone. "That woman across the street? She knows who I am. She watches me whenever I leave the house. They know what's happening to me and don't care so why should I tell them anything?"

Harry was no longer reading but searching back to when that old man had placed him on a door step on a November morning and whispered at him like -

"Harry, what did they look like?" The twins were staring at him now.

"You already know him. That chocolate frog card you showed me proves it."

* * *

_The night was cool and dark, lit only by the moon and stars as the lamps of the silent neighborhood had suddenly, one by one, burnt out. Three odd figures, unseen in the darkness, stood murmuring at the edge of a well-manicured lawn. Finally, the largest figure, standing nearly twice the height of a normal man, handed a small blue bundle to another, smaller figure whose silver beard was just barely distinguishable in the starlight. _

_Dumbledore stepped over the low garden wall and walked up to the front door. He laid the bundle gently on the doorstep, taking a letter out of his cloak, and gently tucking it inside the blanket folds, bending low so the other two wouldn't hear -  
_

___"I am sorry, but everything you shall go through will be for the Greater Good, my boy."_

_and then turned back into the darkness._**  
**

* * *

**Author's Note**

By popular (Devil-O-Angel and killroy225) demand, here are the twins and Harry. Honestly, there won't be a lot of growing up stories beyond offhand comments as I'm going to jump straight to Hogwarts. Sorry if you were getting excited at tiny terrors running around, but this IS a dimension traveling fic.

I do promise interactions at school, though.

Hogwarts: Year 1, here I come!


	3. Journey To The Magical Kingdom

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter (nor - eventually - Transformers), I just like using the characters to cure my boredom. This applies to every following chapter.

"Speaking"

_*twin speak*_

_Thoughts_

**Sorting hat in head**

**"Sorting hat outloud"**

_Chapter 3 : Journey to the Magical Kingdom_

"So, will there be enlightenment anytime soon?"

Two pairs of warm brown eyes met determined green. The Trio of secret, childhood friends had found a compartment and barricaded the door, only opening to allow the snack trolley to be pillaged. Aside from that and a brief hello, the elder boys steadily seemed to ignore the younger. Harry had finally run out of patience after an hour of being left out of the twin's conversation through whatever eye and body movements they "spoke" with.

The two shared another glance.

"Knock off the twin-speak, already. I can't stand knowing something's up and having no clues."

It was Fred who spoke, lips pressed together. "We believe Dumbledore paid off our mother."

Oh. Uh oh. "How bad is it?"

George flopped sideways so his head was on his brother's lap, an odd frown on his face, though he said nothing. Fred pressed into the seat cushions and let out a sigh.

"Not as bad as it could be. Bill and Charlie probably don't know and Dad has been avoiding speaking with Mum. He actually gave us and Perfect Percy a speech about equality and liking people for who they are and not for what they can give us." He grimaced. "Ron and Ginny, on the other hand, have been with Mum and flaunting around new toys and clothes and such for almost a month. We thought maybe Mum had won one of her lotteries, but then Dad started shying away and…"

"'Be happy with what you have. Nobody is better than anyone else. Work hard for what you want.' Mum's been saying stuff like that as far as I can remember and then this happens!" George tugged his knees against his chest. "We arrived last minute when we normally come early. She was shouting, in an area full of muggles, _about_ muggles and the platform number. _Shouting_. And all the while, Mum, Ginny, and Ron were looking around as if they were expecting someone to pop out at them and then getting disappointed when no one did. Even _Percy_ managed to push aside his veil of perfectness enough to suspect somethin'!"

Harry had never seen the cheerful boy so despondent. Moving to their side of the compartment, he tried to think of something to say, eventually glancing at the new, obviously not hand-me-down clothes and unmarred wands peeking out of their expanded trunk. "Well, at least you have better robes and your own wands this year. I've read that it's very dangerous to have a wand that doesn't fit you."

Fred was still frowning, a bit angrier now. "For all we know, Mother Dearest bought them with the money from your vault that the goblins said was locked away from you by your magical guardian. Probably Dumbledore. And Gin's fantasies of marrying The Boy Who Lived have been more vivid, too. They might be planning on a marriage contract or love potions. Not to mention Dumbledore's apparent plan to keep you ignorant before now. Sending _Hagrid_ to explain things to you. No offense to the bloke, he's a nice guy and wouldn't have the heart to lie to you, but he's not the most subtle or intelligent of people. And he mentioned and brought you with him to -"

Harry blinked dumbly as Fred began a long tangent on every little thing that seemed off to him, at one point talking about Dumbledore's style of dress. Even George finally managed to shake from his funk to stare up in bemusement at his brother's theories, sharing a look with Harry before, half an hour later, he flicked the rambling teen in the forehead.

"Oi, Mr. Conspiracy, are you quite done?" A red flush spread over Fred's wide-eyed and freckled face. George, deciding not to prolong his brother's embarrassment, sat up to address the amused first year at his feet.

"So, how do you think the professors will react to your grades?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll only be a little above average, so I highly doubt they'll take notice." Both twins inclined their heads to his trunk incredulously, knowing that there were books from 7th year tucked away somewhere within. Harry rolled his eyes. "The books are interesting, but it bothers me to no end that no one has taken the time to research just where magic comes from. All there is is a vague explanation that there is magic within all living things and some are stronger than others. That's it. No more thorough studies or inquiries to other species which are more in tune with magic have been done. It's baffling. At least with a normal, excuse me, mundane person's knowledge they research extensively into the why's and how's and improving."

George looked from the now impassioned explanations of the green eyed first year to his attentive brother before throwing his hands up and flopping back down onto his twin's lap.

"Am I the only one of us that doesn't ramble?"

* * *

Draco was having a good day. He had gotten accepted into a compartment with 3rd and 4th year Slytherins, his guards have followed all of his orders since they boarded and were to continue to do so for the rest of the year, he put a few bloodtraitors in their places, and stuffed one of the younger Weasleys into a broom closet. The last thing on his list was to befriend one heir to the Potter's fortune and he would be set within his father's good graces.

Which led to him walking steadily down to a certain compartment where it was rumored that said heir was seated. He would have to do damage control if any unpalatable houses had sat with him.

Knocking once and moving to swing open the door without waiting for a response, because really, why should _he_ wait?

Hm. Locked. Either Potter was very quick to learn or he had found an older year. Either way –

"Alohamora."

– it wouldn't keep him.

Stepping just inside the doorway, icy blue eyes surveyed the compartment, brushing over the older redheads, twins, one of which was using his brother as a pillow, and focusing on what was obviously the Potter heir.

Black hair reaching just below his ears, bright green eyes, and just a peek of the famed lightning-bolt scar. He sat straight and dignified with a large book open in his lap; maybe not Slytherin, but Ravenclaw would be acceptable. The only complication was his clothing; it was muggle.

The Potter heir raised a brow. "May I ask what you need so badly?"

"Badly?"

And now the heir was staring flatly at him and one of the twins, the one sitting up, spoke.

"Normally when a compartment is magically locked, you do not open it."

The second twin suddenly popped up with a lewd grin.

"Oh, yes. You never know if one of the older years are gettin' _frisky_. You'll do well to remember it. Wouldn't want to poison your poor innocent mind, ickle firstie."

Social and emotional training could only go so far, which was the only reason anyone could see the faint pink hue covering the blonde's cheeks.

"I would watch how you speak to me, _Weasley_. That's right; bright red hair, freckles, and too many children than you can afford. I recognize you well enough."

Potter remained unresponsive to the insult. So the rumors were true about him being raised with muggles. That will a be a probl - and he's rolling his eyes.

"Blonde hair, pale skin, and too much arrogance than what is healthy." Green eyes slid over to the twins. "Am I correct in assuming this is a Malfoy?"

Gritting his teeth, he stood straighter before addressing the boy. "Draco Malfoy. Pureblood. Heir to the noble house of Malfoy and, in time, the Ancient and noble house of Black."

The second, perverted twin grinned up from his lay down position. "Black? I think a few people may contest that statement, Malfoy, dear."

Bugger all, if the Potter heir was this ingrained with bloodtraitors, he was a lost cause.

"What, do you not have the money to afford a newspaper, Weasley? The remaining Black heirs were in Azkaban. Remember what happened there 8 years ago? The feeding?" Draco looked down at Harry with a sneer. "Maybe the Dementors will see fit to suck out your souls as well, Potter. Weasley."

Turning on his heel, Draco left the compartment, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him.

* * *

The remaining trio took a moment to stare at the closed door before George quite easily shrugged off the spoiled boy's 'threat'.

"From what I hear 'Gingers' don't have souls. Joke's on him." Harry frowned.

"Azkaban Feeding... You never said anything about that. What happened? And what exactly is all this about having my soul sucked out?"

Fred glared out the window at the passing scenery before glancing back at the younger boy. "You haven't read much on magical creatures, have you?"

"Other than confirming myths in the muggle world, no. Spells that could be used to harm me seemed more pertinent to my hyphenated status." Both twins smiled at the blunt statement.

"Well, first of all, there are many different types of magical creatures; dark, light, reclusive, friendly, infectious. Draco there was referring to a dark creature called a Dementor. Dad's seen them before. They look sort of like a grim reaper without a scythe and whenever they are near, everything goes cold. They... " He frowned, subconsciously running a hand through George's hair. "Dementors feed off of happiness or happy memories so that all that is left are bad things: things you regret, guilt, pain. They were... I suppose the word would be 'employed' to guard the wizarding prison Azkaban for a number of years until, that is, the Dementors went rogue for some reason, Kissing all the prisoners then just up and leaving for wherever."

"Okay, backup. How does kissing entail to this? Were the Dementors xenophiliacs?"

George had to forcefully swallow his laugh, face red and eyes bright. _*Further clarification may be needed, Brother Dear*_ Fred rolled his eyes.

"A Dementor's Kiss is not pleasant in any sense of the word since they are essentially sucking out your soul -"

"From the person's _mouth_?"

"Yes. Now do you want an explanation or not?"

Harry smirked, widening his eyes. "Shutting up."

"As I was saying, a Kiss is basically pulling out your soul, which is everything you are, and leaving a husk with only basic functions like breathing and keeping your heart pumping. I believe the mundane term would be 'brain dead'."

"And that happened to all the prisoners?"

There was a sudden, loud CRACK in the compartment. George smiled innocently at the dual glares, waving a colorful open wrapper at them. "You both are oh so _cheerful_ conversationalists. Exploding Bon Bon?"

* * *

Harry had to admit, Hogwarts definitely knew how to leave an impression. Having Hagrid (a 12 foot half giant) lead first years to a group of docked boats to go over a lake under the light of a crescent moon where they would then be given a full view of the large castle lit with candles was as much of a 'look at how awesome we are' as coming out with a parade and music. The ghosts floating by were a nice touch, too, though he was concerned about having a poltergeist sharing living space with children - even if the twins _had_ said that Peeves apparently liked them for whatever reason.

To top it off, no pun intended, a gnarled old hat sang a greeting and sorted all the children into one of the four houses that they fit best. A little confining, in his opinion, but he doubted anyone would appreciate his thoughts, 'celebrity' or not. Barely sparing an ear for the sorting of his future classmates, Harry took in the hall; a combination of cafeteria/ auditorium/ and, perhaps in emergencies, communal sleeping quarters.

Finally, the strict professor(McGonagall, the twins said) who had led them in called out, "Potter, Harry" and there was silence. And whispers. LOTS of whispers mainly consisting of "Blimey, the Boy Who Lived is here!" He half contemplated twirling around and bowing, or maybe throwing a book at some of the annoying gossips to shut them up.

"Harry Potter, come _up_ please."

Quickly stepping up to the dinky little chair and sitting down, he calmly let the odd hat be placed on his head.

**My my, what a mind you have in here.**

_Well, this is unsettling._

**And yet you are still curious. Hmm. Not ambitious to any end, though very clever. Not brash but brave to a point. You wish to protect your brothers and stay away from anyone trying to... manipulate you. Ah... Dumbledore. One of the many who will fall. **

_'Fall'?_

**Not now, but later. I cannot say more than what I was made for. Now, unbelievably loyal to those who you see deserve it, same as your brothers - **

_No, excuse me, you cannot just make a cryptic statement like that and expect me to let it go._

**Heh heh. An undeterred thirst for knowledge.**

_Uh, Hello - ?_

**Fairly obvious where to put you.**

_Hey!_

**"RAVENCLAW!"**

The hat was off his head and the table to his left was clapping heartily, so Harry begrudgingly moved away from the odd sentient hat and sat down next to another sandy haired first year whose name he didn't bother learning and waited for the end of the sorting.

Ronald was sorted into Gryffindor after an oddly long period of time and, afterward, the last of the first years was sorted into Slytherin. The headmaster stood up and made no sense whatsoever, then unhealthy fried food magically appeared on the tables (by house elves, Fred said) and he hoarded a few treacle tarts for later. After that, there was a warning to stay away from the Forbidden Forest and a threat of painful death for going into a room and then everyone was led away to sleep.

All in all, it was a bit odd and he vowed to ignore the warnings. It was actually not just to spite the old man, though that certainly was a part of it, but because the forest was said to have centaurs (who he really wanted to have a conversation with) and it was really too much of a coincidence for there to be a threat of imminent death during _his_ first year. Not to mention Fred and George would probably try to find out what was in that corridor just to one up the barmy headmaster.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I can't stop smiling! I feel so loved with all the reviews and favorites and followers... why was "Alert" changed to "Follower" anyway? I feel like some mob boss...


	4. The Magic Forest

***Next week I may not update because of midterms so... yeah. Sorry.**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter (nor - eventually - Transformers), I just like using the characters to cure my boredom. This applies to every following chapter and any quotes you can recognize from the Harry Potter books or movie (though I've tried to paraphrase.)

"Speaking"

_*twin speak*_

_Chapter 4 : The Magic Forest_

Harry was right about the twins attempting to find out what it was that would cause a 'most painful death.' The very next day, in between classes, the two had tried to open the door (locked by a spell) only for Filch to creep by and haul them to his office. The next three times, they got away.

The fifth time they attempted to break in, they waited until after curfew before going out and taking the aptly named Marauders' Map with them to avoid Hogwarts patrols. When asked why they didn't do this the first time, Fred pointed out that by getting caught, they lulled the professors into a sense of security so when they _did_ get in, the blame shifted off them because they would continue 'failing' to get in. It had worked a few times before in their previous two years so they were only known as mildly and unsuccessfully mischievous (they learned it was safer to avoid their mother's howlers after "accidentally" setting off a firecracker in Percival's bed.)

Aside from that, Harry was certain he had enough evidence to prove thrice over that Hogwarts was, in fact, _not_ the best place to learn magic.

First off, the History of Magic Teacher was a ghost of all things. A droning voice reciting a textbook word for word and a class syllabus that likely hadn't changed for generations were not keys to having a successful class. If he had to guess, over half the year would either barely pass or fail altogether.

Then there was the "cursed" Defense Against the Dark Arts class. Having the memory of 8 stutters per sentence for over an hour was almost painful. Didn't wizards have some sort of therapy for speech disorders?

Of course, the worst of all ended up being at the end of the week in the one class where explosions were a norm. Not that he hated the loud bursts of sound; Fred and especially George's tinkering with technology had desensitized him to the point that he could stay calm after nearly being flattened by a falling wall (though the two had very nearly dragged him to a hospital after that particular incident.)

"Potter! Are you listening to me?"

"Yes, Professor. But - "

"10 points for talking back! Tell me, what potion would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry stared flatly at the greasy-haired, glaring professor. "Draught of Living Death which we don't learn until 3rd year, sir."

The man's mouth snapped shut from where he had likely planned to correct him. "Don't give me any cheek, Potter. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

2nd year. "In the stomach of a goat; used as an antitoxin against poisons such as arsenic."

"What is the difference between wolfsbane and monkshood?"

3rd year again. "Nothing, unless you count their names which there are quite a few of, including aconite."

Instead of turning red or purple like Vernon did when angry, the potions professor seemed to lose his color altogether. A moment passed where green eyes met black. Just as abruptly, it was gone and Snape returned his attention to the room.

"Well? Are none of you writing this down?!"

The rest of the class passed with death glares and one melted cauldron courtesy of a brown haired hufflepuff girl.

* * *

A Cerberus.

Out of all the things to keep locked up in a children's boarding school, Albus too many names Dumbledore decided on a three-headed, 20 foot tall hell hound.

Sure, when he went through the week long scheme to get into the forbidden corridor, he and George were both expecting something big, but a man-eating beast locked in a classroom with a basic unlocking charm that any 2nd or even a determined _1st_ _year_ could undue? If that wasn't suspicious, he didn't know what was.

And Cerberus' were highly sought after guards for important artifacts, one of which there was, apparently, in the school if the large trap door under its paw was any indication. Considering the mysterious theft at Gringotts not long before the start of term and Hagrid coincidentally taking Harry _to the same vault_ the day before... Yeah, that's not _suspicious_or anything.

But, of course, Harry and George listened, acknowledged, and then promptly went off to find a way to pet the giant puppy. This led them to eating rock cakes in Hagrid's hut, listening to how long it took to find a young cerberus and how Fluffy was such a cute little pup... Fluffy?

"You named a _cerberus_ Fluffy?"

The wild beard twitched, beady black eyes sparkling with happiness. "Yea, 'e's such a sweet 'art. Ah! Now, before ye' say anythin', cerberus' actually 'ave very sof' coats of fur. More n' any animal ah've known."

"Can we pet him?" Harry interrupted, green eyes nearly glowing at the chance of touching a living 'legend.' And before Fred could object, Hagrid was beaming at his kindred spirit and standing up.

"O' course! Fluffy'll love company; 'e don' like being by hisself all day. Uh, just don' tell th' Professors 'bout it, yea?"

"Our lips are sealed!" _*Come one, come all, to the Magical Petting Zoo!*_

_*Shut up, George*_

It only took a few minutes to reach the 3rd corridor; one quick alohamora from Hagrid's umbrella and they were standing in front of... Fluffy, who wasn't growling and actually looked rather excited at seeing his "mummy." Then Hagrid started humming a Weird Sisters song.

Even George looked a bit confused, though Harry seemed content with watching the large canine slobber. "Uh, Hagrid. Why are you humming? Has the song been stuck in your head?"

The large man broke from his song, his eyebrows hidden by his hair. "Oh, I didn' say? Fluffy jus' loves music. 'Few notes and 'e calms right down. Ah, come on, 'Arry. Hold out yer hand n' let 'im sniff it. Yea, like that." And then Harry was alternately petting the three heads, with George quickly following. Hagrid had to nudge Fred a bit (if 5 feet was 'a bit'), but soon the three were happily acquainted with the school cerberus, the right most head taking a liking to having Harry scratch his ear.

Eventually, Harry offhandedly asked the question Fred had had in mind, if a bit more sympathetic. "Why is Fluffy cooped up in such a small room anyway? Can he exercise like this?"

Hagrid seemed to shrink in on himself, eyes drifting to the happily panting canine and how its heads nearly touched the ceiling. His inner debate was visible on his face before something won out.

"P... Professor Dumbledore needs 'im here is all. 'S only for the year. After 'at I'm bringin' him out with me to a reserve so 'e can run all 'e wants. No more bein' all cramped like, right, Fluffy? I said I'm sorry to yeh. Ain't no harm'll come to 'im, Dumbledore promised 'at, he did."

The trio stayed quiet, absently petting the giant pup's coat as they let the games keeper have a moment to pull himself together.

_*Something in need of being guarded for _just_ one year?*_

_*Theories later, comfort now.*_

* * *

After a few months at Hogwarts, Harry had adapted the attitude of going with the flow. That didn't mean he was a mindless sheep, of course; he just decided not to panic when something went wrong (Fluffy didn't count since he really was a sweetheart as long as you hummed a few bars.) And Professor Snape was a lot less irritating when you made a game out of his reactions: 5 points if you cause him to glare at you, 10 if you can get house points taken for either talking or staring, 20 if you can make him pale, and 25 if you can somehow make him look stupid. Harry had won 50 points in that first class.

History of Magic became an experiment on whether a ghost could lose their temper. Asking "why" tended to get the closest thing to anger he had seen: 20 points if you can get a frown!

Then there was All Hallows Eve, modernly known as Halloween. Dressing up and eating candy was not a wizarding tradition so he couldn't go around in costume, oh no. Wizards prefered having trolls breaking into the school grounds. Poor fellow must have gotten quite lost to pass through the school's _unbreakable_ wards.

For the twins, Halloween was also known as D-Day, the D standing for Dursley. Despite agreeing to stay quiet about his, ah, homelife, the two older boys had made a tradition of scaring Harry's relatives into being more... gracious in their treatment. He hadn't needed to stay locked in the cupboard after that first incident and had dreamed of purple cars and beachballs in trees while sleeping in the old toy room.

Hagrid turned out to be a very informative friend, if a bit oblivious. Fluffy was just the start; and he really did appreciate being allowed to visit the large canine. A little coaxing and expressing interest even vaguely had quickly led to conversations on magical creatures and the Forbidden Forest (with capitals.) As rumors told, there was a colony of centaurs, half-man/ half-horse people, that have lived there for generations. A patriarchal colony of giant car and house-sized spiders called Acromantula lived there as well, descending from Hagrid's old pet Aragog. And Unicorns. A herd of pure white, beautiful unicorns that Hagrid said came out to graze during the new moon. He needed to go in there.

So here he was; holiday break, 11 days before Christmas and having a stare down with Fred. Unlike Harry's 'go with the flow' and George's 'may as well have fun', Fred had taken on the attitude of an incredulous parent. Regardless of how hilarious it was to watch Fred sputter at the idea of dropping by to say 'hello' to an angry troll, Harry _really_ wanted to go see the forest and Fred and George had gone and explored it in _their_ first year.

"Yes, but _we_ went in barely past the edge and we didn't intend to have a conversation with man eating creatures!"

"Centaurs don't eat humans."

"No, they don't. That doesn't mean they'll be right enthused to speak with you since, I don't know, wizards have been stealing their territory for the past _300 years_!"

"But Hagrid said this one called Firenze is friendly and he's even interested in speaking with a wizard. I could ask all sorts of questions - "

" - Hagrid also mentioned Aragog. Are you going to try and have a chat with _him_ too?"

"Maybe." It wasn't said with any conviction, but Harry's doeful green eyes did wonders on Fred's resolve. George noticed immediately and sidled up to him.

"Come on, Freddie. 'S not like he'll be all by his lonesome, us experienced wand users will be there. We can even use your paranoia as a warning for danger."

Fred rolled his eyes, ruefully shaking his head. "I know I'm going to regret this."

Midnight saturday, with a promise to be back inside by dawn, the three found themselves wandering into the forest with only the moon as their guide. Fred took lead of the exploration team, having Harry walk between him and George.

The Forbidden Forest was one of the largest magical forests in Europe in both size and the number of magical creatures living there. Most of the trees were hundreds of years old with some even rumored to be Dryads, tree nymphs. And they were _tall_, some reaching almost 15 meters high. Though beautiful, it was also frightening; the moonlight barely leaking through the branches, shadows splayed across one another, and the wind whispering around them.

Harry loved it.

He knew that he would remember every single moment of every day for the rest of his life. He had come to terms with the fact that both good and bad memories were stuck with him. So he mapped the shadows and the ghosts of light, the sound of dirt and leaves beneath his feet, the eager eyes of George, and the protective posture of Fred. If he must remember all of the bad, he wanted to recall even more of the good.

"Quiet!"

The three froze, Fred's hand lifted as his eyes scanned the surrounding trees. A quiet thump thump thump was steadily growing closer and closer...

"What are you doing in these woods so late in the night, Foalings?" The words were spoken softly and slowly as the owner of the deep bass voice stepped out of the shrubbery.

It was a Centaur, a fairly young one at that. Piercing blue eyes gazed down at the three huddled children as he trotted from out of the shadows. His hair was long and ghostly blonde, the coat of his lower half just a few shades darker. There was no threat or urgency in his movements, just a quiet curiosity beneath a serene patience. He moved no closer when Fred subtly shielded his brothers with his own bulk(which wasn't much.)

"You have no reason to fear me. I will not harm a child, be it centaur or human."

A silence, not awkward but not comfortable, settled over the four as they studied eachother. Shifting a bit, Harry stepped forward, a small smile tugging on his lips as he tried to contain himself.

"Hullo. My name's Harry... I've never met a centaur before." Even as he watched the man tilt his head, Harry could _feel_ the exasperated smile on George's face.

"The Potter child... and two moons." The centaur paused as if listening before turning around with a nod of his head. "You should not be out alone. I will take you back to the castle."

"What's your name?" There was no pause this time and the children jogged to catch up with the man.

"I am called Firenze." Harry smiled.

"So you know Hagrid, then. Can I ask you something?"

A vague smile appeared on the calm face. "I believe you just did so."

Fred stared. "Did you just make a joke?" George grinned, hands on his hips.

"What? Didja think he wouldn't have a sense of humor?"

"_George_."

Harry gave Firenze a lazy shrug as the twins bickered. "They get like that. Anyway, I read that your people were very in-tune with magic. Is that why you can predict things? I read it was called stargazing, but the book was written by a wizard, so I doubt it was very accurate."

"She whispers."

Harry blinked. "She?"

But Firenze did not answer. Harry waited as they walked closer to the castle, Fred and George coming to stand on either side of him. It was just as the towers could be seen through the branches that the centaur spoke once again.

"The advantage of having two faces is that one may look upon where they have been and where they will be. But you cannot change where you have been, and you will not always know where you will be. However..." Firenze stopped just before the forest's end, blue eyes looking up into the cloudless sky. At the stars. "Many doors will open when it is time for them to do so."

"Firenze!"

The three students dropped to the ground, easily hidden by the shrubbery. Peering out through the leaves, they let out a relieved breath.

In all his clumsy, sincere glory was Hagrid. The half giant had a crossbow clutched in his large palm, taking deep breaths to regain the air he had lost from running.

Firenze nodded to him. "Hagrid."

"S good t' see ya. Ah, things've been actin' a might strange lately, ain't they? Don' s'pose ya seen anythin' odd 'round the forest?" Beady black eyes glanced suspiciously into the shadowed wood.

Harry raised a brow when that same vague smile graced the centaur's lips, blonde head lifted skyward once more. "Mars is bright tonight."

Hagrid appeared exhausted by the answer. "As I've 'eard." Shaking his shaggy head, Hagrid turned back to where he came from. "If ya do see somethin' odd, tell me, yea? G'night, Firenze."

A moment passed as the gameskeeper left their sight and the students stood up, Firenze already turning into the forest.

"Do not go into the forest alone anymore. It is not safe for you here."

"Do you know what Hagrid meant by 'strange'?" The man paused, but did not look back, did not see the three pairs of eyes scrutinizing him.

"You will know. Soon. It will not matter if I were to tell you now. You will not be harmed."

And he was gone.

George screwed up his face and shrugged, twirling to the two equally confused preteens with a grin. "Well! That was informative."

* * *

**Author's Notes(long today)**

No, I didn't forget Hermione. I made a few hints, but to say it bluntly, there are no more muggleborns under age 12. In my head, Magic/Fate has to choose to give her gift to muggleborns at around age 2 or 3. Though she is killing off the wizards, that doesn't mean she wants to destroy life, so she stopped distributing her gift and only let those with magical parents to continue to have magical children due to their genetics.

Also, with Draco's use of the Alohamora spell; the slow siphoning of magical power from witches and wizards (which I briefly glanced over in chapter 1) causes them to be weaker, so purebloods counteract it by teaching their children earlier and more extensively so as not to appear weak.

***PS For the Fluffy moment**, I once read a crack-y fic whose name I can't remember and hadn't been updated in a while. The plot was that on the train ride to school, Harry prevented Draco and Ron's name calling by talking about how muggle celebrities became insane. In the two purebloods' logic Harry was raised by muggles and was famous in the wizarding world, therefore, he would become insane if he found out about his fame. Anyway, Harry ends up treating Fluffy like a pet at one point and tries to train him with Hagrid's permission and I thought it was funny, so: Ta Da!

If you are the author, tell me and I will give credit.


	5. Illuminati

**I'm back!**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter (nor - eventually - Transformers), I just like using the characters to cure my boredom. This applies to every following chapter...

Also, Whispering Darkness informed me that the story I mentioned at the end of last chapter was called "On a Train, Switching Tracks" by Mede. Check it out if you want.

_Chapter 5 : Illuminati_

For every year after that trip to the library, Harry had been dragged along to celebrate every holiday the twins could think of. His favorite would always be his second official birthday (the first being with his parents), but Christmas was a very close runner up.

Every year, on Christmas eve, Fred and George would sneak out of the Burrow and take Harry to the English Channel on an old Cleansweep. There, they would wait up watching the stars until midnight came and they exchange their gifts. That first Christmas, Harry had gotten a small scrapbook filled with moving photos of his parents. Near the end, there were normal muggle photos of him, Fred, and George trick or treating, feeding ducks by a pond, and a picture of Vernon's car painted neon purple taken from behind a bush.

Though he would miss being able to sit under the stars at the channel, the twins assured him Hogwarts had a very nice atmosphere around the holidays (remember how well Halloween turned out?)

Of course, it wasn't so much the holiday as it was the people involved. The twins, for example. He loved celebrating with them; they were fun and just close enough to feel their comfort without suffocating him. An example of suffocating would be -

"Merry Christmas, Harry! Oh, hey, let's open your presents. You probably got a jumper from Mum. I told her you didn't expect much for the holidays. Can you share any food you get with me? Lets go outside - it's snowing!"

During the school year, Harry could get away with avoiding Ronald by saying he was studying or had gotten breakfast before everyone else or needing to speak with a teacher after class and he was quickly running out of believable excuses. Ronald Weasley quite obviously took after his mother, at least from what Fred and George described of her. He was over bearing, stubborn, never admitted when he was wrong, and did not take 'get away from me, you slimy toad' for an answer.

On holidays where class was canceled, not only were there no excuses, Ronald actually woke up early enough to catch him.

So Harry listened, mind numb, as the taller boy babbled away about himself as if making up for lost time, acting as though they had been the best of friends for their whole lives. Green eyes focused on the wrapped presents he had brought down into the library(Madam Pince had given him a look, but she allowed it), black brows furrowing in annoyance.

"Merry Chr - oh. Ronnikins, did you know that talking a person's ears off is a fined offense?" Ronald glared.

Fred and George were great brothers, really, and that didn't end with Harry. Even after a summer of money throwing, they had treated their youngest red haired brother as they normally did, taking time to show him around the castle and threatening potential bullies. But as the days and weeks went by, having their help thrown aside and ignored had begun to disillusion them of just how much Ronald had changed. Then they noticed the stalking Harry had neglected to inform them about.

It started as little, negligible things: sitting near him in class and meal times, walking a little too close by. So, Harry began making excuses to avoid the boy. Instead of getting the hint, Ronald became even more persistent.

And he was mad. Whining about how Harry was _his_ friend and he shouldn't talk with slytherins(when had he ever done that?) because they were all _evil_ and schoolwork was so boring and that Harry needed to come home with him next summer to meet his sister.

They didn't like it, but when telling off the younger boy only resulted in Ronald attempting to hex them... yeah, they were not forgiving. The three still interacted, but it was only if necessary and the twins tended to be more aloof and mean spirited in their teasing. Percival had noticed, but informing him of the attempted hexing had persuaded his prefect side to leave it be.

The decision of whether to stay in the library despite the hostilities or leave was remedied when Ronald's stomach reminded him that he had yet to eat that morning. Giving a last look to the three, he padded out the large ornate doors.

Taking a breath, George ambled around the desks and plopped beside Harry near the History section. A beat later, Fred was beside him, dropping his and George's presents onto the desk top.

Opening the first pile of gifts found George with his customary Weasley sweater and fudge, a geographical map of Egypt, dragon hide gloves, a book on etiquette, candies, a pair of protective goggles and junior labcoat, and an empty science journal with a guide on proper research formats. He quickly pulled on his new gear and posed, face thoughtful as he plucked at his collar.

"What? No bowtie? Indiana Jones would be most displeased."

After sharing an eye roll at the comment, it was Fred's turn. Again, he found himself with a Weasley sweater (which he switched with George), a book on Egyptian runes, a book on fire element spells, an exact copy of George's book on etiquette, more candies, a blue shirt with 'Future Employee of AC Car Company' written in white (George smiled innocently), and the newest car Catalog from the affor mentioned company. Giving each of his brothers a hug, determinedly ignoring George's 'Awww', Fred waved for Harry to have a go at his own pile.

Hm.

"Why do you have so many presents?"

"It's probably the doe eyes, right, Emeralds?" In contrast to the light tone, George was matching his twin's frown. They recognized eachother's gifts(blueprints of the most recent computer and a step by step manual of Atari game programs) and an envelope from the Dursleys(and a sixpence), but then it looked like their mother, Ronald and... Ginny had given Harry presents, as well as a package with no name at all.

A few minutes later, the three sat crouched behind one of the shelves with the twins aiming Fred's wand toward Ginny's gift.

"_Celatum __revelare_."

Ginny's meticulously wrapped present unraveled to reveal a tin of cookies which glowed a slightly reddish-black color before dissolving. Why was there a love potion in there when Harry had never... oh. There was a card with a picture of the small red haired girl smiling and waving excitedly taped inside.

George glanced over at his twin, batting his eyes expectantly. _  
_

"This is where you're supposed to say 'I told you so.'" Fred rolled his eyes.

Staying behind their makeshift barrier, the two re-aimed Fred's wand at the unnamed package.

"_Celatum __revelare__.__" _

The wrapping paper unraveled similar to Ginny's, and though whatever was inside was not immediately distinguishable, it glowed a faint puce color. Did Fred ever mention what purple-pink colors indicated?

"An impulsive charm?" Ah, right. Hm.

"Impulse to do what exactly?" After taking a moment to wonder, the three shrugged, casting the counter charm on the package.

"Guess we'll never know. Now then, let's have a look-see at your mystery gift." George bounded over, crouching down to pick up what turned out to be a cloth... cloak? Harry and Fred stared in bafflement as George threw on the cloak and promptly disappeared from sight. George let out a bark of gleeful laughter.

"'Ey, look! I'm the male version o' Susan Storm!" Ignoring the odd comic book reference, Harry attempted to follow George's movements through the room by the sound if his voice, reaching out a hand to grasp around.

"'Your father left this in my possession before he died. It is time it was returned to you. Use it well.' And he waited until now to give it over? What a coinky-dink." The small piece of parchment was flicked back onto the table

George's detached head abruptly appeared inches from Fred's nose.

"BLOODY HELL, GEORGE!"

Harry fell, laughing, onto the stone cobble floor as Fred knocked himself over a table and behind a book shelf. George quickly made himself fully visible and waved his hands in calming motions.

"Sorry 'bout that, Freddie! I wasn't thinking." Fred glared as he righted himself, pulling the still-giggling firstie to his feet.

"I realized _that_." Fred gave his twin an expectant look. "Well, what was the epiphany you just _had_ to share?"

"We can move around the school without being seen, now!"

Harry gave the excited preteen an exasperated smile. "Are you expecting all three of us to fit under one cloak?"

"Oh..." George paused a moment. "You can cling to me like a monkey."

Fred crossed his arms. "We are not using the cloak to sneak around, or did you forget the impulse charm that was on it? The person who gave it to you probably meant for it to be used to bring Harry somewhere. Possibly a very dangerous place."

George brightened. "The 3rd corridor!"

"We are not going past Fluffy!"

* * *

Fred's determination allowed for the holidays and then two months of classes to pass by before he finally lost his will.

"This is unbelievably idiotic."

Most of it anyway.

In the end, it was past midnight when the three held the invisibility cloak in front of them while shuffling alongside the walls until they stood outside Fluffy's 'bedroom'. Easily unlocking the door, they gave the giant puppy their usual greeting: a soft song and belly rub.

"Stay on ye guard, Fluffers! We be goin' to check on the booty, yarrg!"

"George, you are not a pirate."

Opening the hatch revealed nothing but darkness. Harry tossed his sixpence 'present' down and counted the seconds. George let out a dismissive huff.

"Well, it didn't 'ting' so there must be something soft down there. And, yes, Emeralds, I know it is a 24 meter drop. I read that physics book as well."

"Not it."

"Not it. Off you go, Freddie."

Waving them off, the elder twin shuffled to the edge of the pit and pitched himself downward falling, falling until he landed on... Devil's snare?

"_Incendio_." The fire was small, but the snaking vines shied away and allowed Fred to walk onto concrete. Easy. "You can jump, but there's devil's snare on the landing so either get up quickly or prepare an incendio."

"Aye Aye!"

Once the three were safely away from the pissy shrubbery - "Don't pick such a cute name, George, it was trying to strangle us!" - they came to the next part of the obstacle course - "like this could really hold back a full grown wizard."

There were keys with multi-colored, glittering wings flitting about the room's ceiling like moonlit water. A school broom was already handily placed beside the locked door. Fred glared at it and defiantly sifted through his robes to pull out two metal sticks, one with a sharp point and the other with a hook.

George pouted as his brother quickly picked the lock of the old door. "You're no fun."

"Tough."

Through the next hall was a wide, domed room set up into a chess set, torches lining up around it like an eerie medieval arena. A life-sized _wizard's_ chess set. Harry was cut off before he could so much as turn.

"**No**." Harry and George shared disappointed looks as they obediently followed Fred around the board, completely avoiding the obstacle, to the next passageway.

"You're no _fun_!"

Pausing at the next door, Fred cracked it open only to visibly hit a wall of damp, rotten stink. Harry choked and quickly pulled his cloak up as a make-shift gas mask.

"Ughkk. George, I think we've found your old fungal experiment." Said twin was too busy holding in his supper to respond.

Fred shut the door and banged his head against it. "There's a bloody _troll_ in there."

"A _troll_?" Harry's voice was a bit nasally. "I read that they smelled bad, but, ugh! I'm gonna be sick!"

"So we can go back to our dorms now?"

"NO!" After dragging Fred down here for an adventure and getting so far, George was not allowing it to end so soon. Even if he did end up sick all over the floor. Glancing around the corridor, he spotted one of the nearby torches and yanked it off the wall. "Trolls don't like fire, right?"

"You're serious."

Grasping the metal torch with both hands, George stood before the door. Harry moved behind him and, after dropping his hands in defeat, Fred prepared to open the door.

"3... 2... 1... Now!"

Obviously, Mr. Troll was not expecting house guests and tripped over its own lumbering, horned feet. The three ran passed, George's torch staying between them and the dull, in both color and brain, being until they made it to another doorway. The moment they passed the threshold, a deep poison purple fire blocked the way, an equally large black fire erupting from the opposite doorway.

A small, spindle legged table stood in the center of the circular room, 7 oddly shaped bottles of liquids sitting innocently on top. George experimentally waved his torch through the purple flames, the metal neck melting and toppling back through to where the troll was prowling.

"Wizard be nimble, wizard be quick, wizard jump over the flaming pit~"

"We're not jumping over anything, there's a riddle here. Probably Professor Snape's doing. Biased as he is, you can't say he doesn't have any sense." Fred handed the roll of paper to Harry.

"_Danger lies before you, while safety lies behind,_

_Two of us will help you, whichever you would find,_

_One among us seven will let you move ahead,_

_Another will transport the drinker back instead,_

_Two among our number hold only nettle wine,_

_Three of us are killers, waiting hidden in line._

_Choose, unless you wish to stay here for evermore,_

_To help you in your choice, we give you these clues four:_

_First, however slyly the poison tries to hide_

_You will always find some on nettle wine's left side;_

_Second, different are those who stand at either end,_

_But if you would move onwards, neither is your friend;_

_Third, as you see clearly, all are different size,_

_Neither dwarf nor giant holds death in their insides;_

_Fourth, the second left and the second on the right_

_Are twins once you taste them, though different at first sight._"

"Which is scarier: drinking poison or the fact that Snape can write poetry?"

Harry smiled and ignored the silent argument starting up behind him. 3 poison, 2 wine, 1 way forward, 1 way back. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7. The largest and the smallest were 6 and 3 respectively. The second left and second right were 2 and 6. The ones on the ends were 1 and 7.

If you are trying to protect something, you will not want many people passing at once. This would make the smallest, 3rd bottle the way forward.

If the second left and second right were identical and neither dwarf nor giant were poisons, it was likely that bottles 2 and 6 were wine.

To the left of nettle wine were poisons: bottles 1 and 5.

This left bottles 4 and 7.

If the outer bottles 1 and 7 did not take you 'onwards' and bottle 1 was poison, bottle 7 could be the way backwards.

1, 4, 5 were poisons; 2, 6 were wine; 3 was the way forward; 7 was the way back.

"There is only enough potion for one person to move forward."

Fred frowned and looked from one fire to the other before picking up the small blue bottle Harry pointed out as the way through the black flames and holding it out to Harry.

"You drink this and stand on the other side of the flames. Do. Not. Move. Me and George will go back through the purple flames and then back in and George will take the forward potion and then - "

"Freddie, you do know what 'only enough for one person' means, right?" George met Fred's _look_ head on.

"The professors need to check to make sure whatever they're guarding is still here. That means they have to have a way to get through as quickly as possible."

Green eyes lit up. "The bottles would have to be self-refilling!"

Getting a nod, Harry drank the potion, feeling as though his insides had frozen, and stepped through the flames. The room was ancient and lit with oil pools set up around the walls, stone stairs leading down into a circular pit, in the middle of which stood a mirror. Its edges were a beautiful carved silver, an inscription that he couldn't quite read from his place just before the black flames.

"Whoa, that was odd." George gave his shorter companion a hug. "Warm me up, Emeralds. I'm gonna freeze like this."

Fred padded through the flames, eyes rolling when he noticed George's pout. Harry nodded toward the mirror.

Avoiding actually looking into the reflective glass, the three circled the odd decoration. George plucked a rock from the floor.

"So is this where we break the mirror and a gold star comes out?"

Ignoring the comment, Fred examined the carved letters at the top of the mirror."'_Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.'"

"I show not your face, but your hearts desire." The twins blinked, unconsciously tilting their heads together.

"So whoever wants the treasure, gets it? That's not much of a protection."

Shaking his head, the first year moved to stand in front of the mirror. A moment passed and Harry pulled out a gleaming red stone from his robes. Fred's grin was all teeth.

"We should probably return this to the rightful owner. You think Dumbledore will mind?"

* * *

It didn't take long to find the proper owner of the stone. Especially since it was _conveniently_ - "Freddie, calm yourself or you'll start seeing conspiracies in your breakfast" - written on Dumbledore's chocolate frog card.

The three composed a letter describing the security around the school for the philosopher's stone and used a school owl to send the artifact to the Flamels in a bottomless bag. For the next few weeks, they took a great deal of entertainment from the professors speed-walking (because running wasn't dignified) around like headless chickens only to quite suddenly quiet. Two weeks later, it got out that Professor Quirrell was found dead in the Forbidden Forest, next to an injured unicorn.

Recalling Hagrid and Firenze's conversation, the boys went to visit the animal-loving gameskeeper.

Though the little hut was fairly run down, it gave off the same homey atmosphere that the half-giant always seemed to carry with him. This was why the closed curtains and locked door immediately bothered them. Another oddity was the fire that appeared to be on despite the near sweltering heat of midday. Wary, Fred knocked on the door.

"Who is it?" Hagrid's large beard peaked through the cracked door before realization dawned and he ushered them in. The inside of the hut was stifling and fogged by the smoke wafting out of the roaring fire place, a large black pot set over it. As they sat down, dolls at a child's table, a plate of stoat sandwiches and rockcakes were placed before them.

Fred kept his face neutral, but winced at the memory of the nail hard snacks. "Uh, we've already eaten, thanks. Hagrid, why is there an empty pot on the fire?"

"Empty?" Hagrid's face was slack in confusion. Fred glanced at the pot again and hesitantly continued.

"It's not smoking... so it's not food or tea..."

Hagrid suddenly looked very nervous and asked about how their classes were going. George and Harry answered, suspicious, as Fred narrowed his eyes at the pot. Or, rather, underneath it. Eyes widened, he turned stiffly toward the half giant.

"Hagrid, do you have a dragon's egg in your _fire place_?" The older man seemed to shrivel, shifting like a child who had disobeyed their parents.

"Shoulda known you'd notice. Charlie's workin with dragons now, ain't he? Lucky boy, 'at one."

"_Hagrid_."

"Is it going to hatch soon?" Fred glared at the younger - and now very eager - boy. But it was too late; the positive reaction wiped away the gameskeeper's nervousness, his mouth opening to explain everything about dragons and possibly how adorable they were, only for a faint scratching to reach their ears. Hagrid's eyes widened.

"Er. 'Bout now, 'pparently."

The deep black egg was snatched up by metal thongs and placed onto the table where Harry had put a fur covering. All four stayed silent, whether in excitement or wariness, as small cracks appeared in the shell, a clicking echoing from inside the small container. Time passed as the cracks grew larger and the clicks grew clearer until, quite suddenly, the shell broke apart.

It was a Norwegian Ridgeback. A spindly black-brown body that was far too small for the near-translucent wings, vibrantly orange eyes bulging from its face, and small bumps where horns, a tail spike, and spinal ridges would be when full grown. An ugly little thing that would grow to a monstrous 30 feet within the first year. And Hagrid thought it was cute.

"Hagrid, you are not keeping it." Shining black eyes locked with flat brown, a sausage finger being steadily nibbled by razor fangs between them.

"Wha? Bu-but I read all 'bout them and how to take care of 'im. Firs' few days you gotta feed 'em - "

"Dragon breeding is not _legal_ in England, Hagrid."

Now he looked indignant. "I ain't breedin' Norbert!" And he gave it a name. Great.

"You can't keep a dragon for a pet either!"

"What kind of name is Norbert for a dragon?" Of course George would focus on that. Harry just seemed content on playing spectator in the three way ping-pong match.

"Well, 'e looks like a Norbert, don' he?"

"You live in a tiny _wooden_ hut! Do you know how fast dragons grow?"

"We could always find a place for Norbert in the forest."

"I don' think Bane'd appreciate 'at."

"Who?"

"SHUT IT!"

George smiled innocently as Hagrid quieted and Harry...

"Stop petting the dragon hatchling. _Now_."

He was mailing Charlie tonight, no excuses.

* * *

_The man's face was distorted, as though a thin waterfall was constantly blocking his view. But he knew who the man was. By now, he could recognize the messy black hair and shining of light on glasses and, though it wasn't clear, he could imagine the hazel eyes behind them. James Potter._

_He was looking down, the man's arms lifting him into the air as he spoke a mesh of nonsense._

_"Yeah, little Prongslet. You like it in the air, huh? Yeah... you do. You gonna fly some day?" Large arms encircled him, James above him now. "I'll have to speak to your mummy soon, hm? You know your mummy, Prongslet?"_

_"He isn't riding a broom until he can actually walk first, James Potter." Head lolling around, he found the soft, familiar voice's owner: Lily Potter nee Evans. Her hair was easy to spot, long and red as it was, her bright green eyes - achingly warm and loving - piercing through the fog. He loved listening to her, especially the lullabies she sang to him._

_Then another figure, dressed in blue with dark hair and blue?grey? eyes walked in behind her. "Aw you're no fun Lils! How's the Prongslet going to be a world famous quidditch star without practice?"_

_"He may not even like quidditch, you know. I certainly didn't all that much." Lily's green covered arms pulled him to her, a barely distinguishable smile on her face._

_The other man hugged James. "Say it ain't so, Prongs!"_

_A laugh. "Get off, Padfoot!" Something in the room shifted and the three adults sat, Lily and James beside each other and Padfoot across from them. It was quiet and he played with Lily's hair, soft, and she held his hand._

_"We need you to listen to something. Just... don't tell Dumbledore we told you. It's meant to be secret." James moved and something ceramic or metal was placed onto glass - the table. "We've already told Remus when he was here the other day."_

_A moment passed and then what seemed like a thousand rasping voices spoke at once._

**_"__The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... _**

**___born to those who have thrice defied him, _**

**___born as the seventh month dies ... _**

**___and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal..._**_"_

_Lily held him and kissed his forehead, bright green eyes shining and shining until it flashed and a high cackle echoed alongside a scream._

* * *

He jolted from his sleep, breaths shallow and fast, eyes - _flashing, killing green _- opened wide. Arms held him and something knitted through his hair.

"Alright, Emeralds?"

Focusing and blinking away spots, Harry reoriented himself. The sun was lower, past noon time, but bright and shown over the grassy land surrounding Hogwarts, the lake spraying water as the giant squid played with the lily pads floating atop. Looking up, he found Fred and George looking right back at him, expressions worried even as Fred continued carting his fingers through his hair.

Emeralds. Not the sickly color of a killing curse nor the aching warmth of Her, but _his_ green. Harry smiled. He was fine.

"Was it a nightmare? Or a memory?" Harry remained silent, leaning into the odd three way huddle-hug for a while longer.

"A bit of both." He saw understanding in their eyes; this wasn't the first time a memory had ended with that moment in his bedroom, with Lily. Mother. "I know why Voldemort attacked me."

Fred looked even more worried, already putting theories together. And ways to protect.

"There was a prophecy of some sort, telling of how a person would defeat 'the Dark Lord'. My... nightmare interrupted it before I could hear the rest, but it started '_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... __born to those who have thrice defied him, __born as the seventh month dies... __and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal...'_"_  
_

George laid down to face the clouds. "Well, your parents were on the 'light' side and, therefore, defied Voldy... you were born July 31st, and you have your Zeus mark."

Fred caught Harry's eye in a plea for normalcy. "He can't be serious for more than a moment."

George bounced back up, face barely an inch in front of his brother's. "I most certainly can! In fact, I've already figured out a way to hear the entire prophesy without causing Emeralds nightmares."

"Oh, _really_? And how is that?"

"Well, Dad did say that we could visit him at work whenever we wanted. I don't think he'd mind if we brought a friend."

* * *

Some ties were strained and others went unknown when the school year finally ended. The only strong tie belonged to a trio of children, one of whom was said to vanquish 'The Dark Lord.' But the prophesy was vague, as they all were, and so those who heard it did not know that the requirements for his had already been half filled. All that was left was the ending; Her part.

So She waited and watched, determined and regretful, as Her human children went about their days, barely noticing the weakening of their power and their coming ends. She watched offspring greet parents and siblings, plan their summers, careers, and futures. She listened to their dreams and hopes and fears. Felt their happiness and sadness, frustrations and elation.

But Her eyes were always on the three. It took away some of the regret, the guilt, of what She would do - what she had already done. They were together for as much as they could be, talking and laughing and being children. Despite everything that could and would be, She was grateful they could still be children.

However, as always, time passed until the children began their plan, the parallel of her own, and so She waited and watched as they moved closer.

And She had mercy, even through all this, allowing at least the father and two elders a bit of peace. Harming and killing - genocide - was not an act she took joy from, but if it would save her world, her children, then She could anything.

She only had one world, after all.

* * *

**Author's Note**

My first attempt at writing this, I completely forgot I had put Harry in Ravenclaw. I had to go through and rewrite some of the scenes. And, yeah... I don't like this ending at all. It sounds a bit forced and VERY rushed, but I really want to go to the movies already.

Alas, there is one more chapter before then. It will be out soon and will (hopefully) explain things well enough to satisfy any sticklers reading. I hate explaining dimension traveling...

******If you see spelling mistakes, please tell me so I can go and correct them. I will not be angry. I like having good grammar. Thank you.


	6. An Unfinished Life

**Happy Halloween, hate Hurricane Sandy...**

**Disclaimer**: I do not own Harry Potter (nor - soon - Transformers), I just like using the characters to cure my boredom. This applies to every following chapter.

_Chapter 6: Unfinished Life_

Arthur had always loved Molly, even in Hogwarts he had loved her. Through the births of his children and then the war, he had loved her with all his heart.

But then...

He wasn't sure when it happened. Just that one day he woke up and found that Molly had willingly stolen money from an orphan. The son of a dear friend who had died in the war.

There must have been little things that he had blissfully ignored, but it was clear when Ron and Ginny came home with new clothes and toys, and all the boys with new wands. He couldn't understand it, how she had... how she could choose to do such a thing. So he had asked.

"I only want what's best for our family, Arthur. I want them to be able to dream! I don't want to harm the boy. But he will not survive the coming war, he won't be needing the money - we _will_! I'll make sure he's treated well. I'll make sure he's loved before he goes!"

His own wife, speaking of a child's death like it was only to be expected. He couldn't stand to listen to her after that. Could barely stay in the same room as her. And their children could see it - oh, they could.

But his youngest were already taken, blinded by the stories told by their mother. So he gathered his three middle children and drilled what morals he could into their heads. Percy was already taking after him, heading into the ministry. His grades were excellent and he might even gain a high position if things went well. And then there were the twins. They probably didn't know, but he had seen them going out to his shed. The boys were better at fixing and more knowledgeable in muggle things than even he was. It wouldn't matter what they chose for their life, he would be proud of them. Even if they decided to leave magic behind. He would always love them.

He remembered during the old times in the war where he and the others would talk about their children - born or not. The marauders especially talked about how their kids would be their second coming... Then there was only one of them. All those talks about how their kids would be the best of friends withered away. And James...

All things considered, Arthur wasn't surprised to find that Fred and George had befriended the boy - James' boy - what with both of them being the friendly type, George more so as they got older. He simply found it a bit odd just how close they were with a two year difference in age. But it did them good, so when Fred and George asked to come to work with him - give young Harry a tour - Arthur allowed it.

As he watched the boys wander off to explore, his sons flanking the small slip of a boy like sentinels, he couldn't help the odd pang of pain he felt in his chest. Something was going to happen. And despite the worry and anxiety, he smiled. They would be okay. He could feel it.

* * *

Surprisingly, the Department of Mysteries wasn't all that hard to find. It said something about security when a trio of children could break in to the most important part of the ministry.

Harry was soaking in the sights. The arching rooms and corridors were shaded in an eerie blue-green glow from the square patterned lighting on the stone walls. They moved through the maze, their steps making hardly a sound, yet seemed to echo in the darkness. After flitting through the revolving doors, they found the prophesy room. Rows upon rows of translucent crystal were ordered and left untouched for however many years, allowed to wallow in the stillness of the large keep, memories tensing the air.

None of them spoke, simply walked forward as one, eyes scanning the rows and rows waiting to catch sight of the one prophesy they had come for. As they moved through one shelf to the next, the air felt as though it had become a lit with anticipation, that the smokey orbs were just as interested in hearing the prophesy as they were.

And there it was.

Just at the end, at eye level with the twins, sat a cobweb covered sphere. Once the dust was blown off, it's inscription could be seen:

_**S.P.T to A.P.W.B.D**_

_**Dark Lord **__**and (?) Harry Potter**_

"They didn't know I was the 'chosen one' when the prophesy was made?"

He hadn't meant for the words to come out so loudly - or at all really - and the sudden fast pounding of feet reminded Harry exactly why they had to _sneak_ into the department.

Briefly catching eyes with the twins, he winced, receiving a hard look and forgiving nod from Fred and a simple shrug from George. Then they were running.

Knowing the entrance was more than likely blocked, they moved toward the opposite direction, keeping low and stilling if the footsteps came too near. The darkness helped them hide and the pounding echoes caused by the security - Aurors and Unspeakables - hid their own, lighter footsteps. Dodging around shelves, the three found themselves at a doorway, rushing feet not far behind. They pushed together and fell through in a pile, only they didn't stop falling once they were through. It was a pit.

The landing was a hard one, the elder boys taking the brunt of it while curled around the smaller child. Groaning, they stood, Fred taking a glance up to find the doorway closed but flashing in an odd pattern. It was a part of a revolving door.

Glancing around the room, Fred felt a sense of dread. There wasn't an exit in sight and nothing to hide behind and they would be caught and their father would get in trouble and they would be arrested and unable to protect Harry from his bloody ignorant relatives -

Whispers. Chilling and siren like, they flowed from the centerpiece of the room: a thin metal archway and the rippling silky sheet of nothing held within it. He didn't know what it was, but it was safe to say no one would go looking behind it. Motioning to his twin, he grabbed the smallest boy and ran, ready to duck behind the arch and lay low until the search was called off.

"Uh - "

It was a simple slip of a foot, treading on cloak instead of stone. A small thing, but it was enough so that instead of ducking to the side and sliding behind the arch, the trio lost their balance and fell forward, straight through the writhing, silky, whispering doorway.

A moment later, the revolving door was opened and an Auror garbed in a maroon robe leaned into the room, checking for any signs of movement. Seeing none, he shook his head and left, leaving behind a white X to show the room had been cleared. No one was there.

* * *

She watched the male human leave, shaking Her head solemnly. The Veil of Death was an appropriate name, yet Her human children did not realize that it could also be called the Veil of Life. A crossroads of sorts.

Unfortunately, the Between-World was not a pleasant place to be. There was no real light, only a thick, grey mist in all directions. No ground either: no way to tell which way was up or down. It was an empty and cold place, mimicking a corpse once the soul left its form. She hated it, but that was just how the world was and She could not change it.

When Her three fell into the world, She had to concentrate, focus on their souls so that they would not be taken to the After and She could put Her plan into motion.

It was simple, really. Once She had found an appropriate world and made a deal with the Watcher, the three would be reborn in the times that their alternate world's counterparts were meant to die and take their place. Not unlike the Hindu belief of reincarnation, actually.

Humans were a very curious children. If they could not explain things, they made up their "gods" and when they gained the tools to investigate things, they found the "real" explanations. Many of the Watchers spent most of their time not manipulating the world for their enjoyment as some of their children believed, but simply observing the lives of their creations, human or otherwise. Similar to how Her humans watched drama and comedy shows.

As the room shifted colors and temperature, soft whispers fading in and out, She watched her children sleep. They would most likely be confused and frightened when they awoke, much younger and separated. If it could be changed... but it could not. All She knew - was promised to her - was that they would be reborn within a few years of eachother, young enough for their behavior to not raise any questions, and that they had the choice to choose what they would do with their lives. The Watcher who ruled their future world had minimum contact with His first children which could allow Him to manipulate His world much more than She could.

He also had more than one version of His world; 17, actually - more than likely the reason He allowed Her to place three unknowns in one of them.

Magik had only one world to nurture life into. She did not appreciate her efforts being wasted and She put a lot of effort in the creation of Her Chosen. Harry was meant to clean the world, unite all her children and stop the infesting decay that had begun, but it was already too late by the time he was born. All She could do was damage control; kill off the disease and send off Her Chosen and the two She had picked to help him along. A very good choice, too, with how close the three were.

Now all She had to do was hope this wouldn't turn out like with Janus' two worlds, destroyed from sheer stupidity and His title as Watcher ripped away.

Morbid humor - She could understand it's appeal, now.

The smokey mist of the Between-world began to darken, the small bodies warping as their souls were pulled to their new lives. She could not watch them anymore, could not keep them safe or choke a promise of peace for them from Primus' throat. All She could do was hope this last remnant of one race of Her children would live well.

"Please live."

* * *

**Author's Note**

Ugh.

It got deleted...all of it. 1500 words. It was so good. Dammit, I hate explanations. I was originally going to have Magik explaining things to the trio, but then, they would know too much for a normal person and it got deleted anyway and... ugh.

Aside from that, YAY, I've finished the HP-verse! Onto the Transformer-verse, Movie 1: The Autobot War. Woohoo!

Still sad about those pages though...


	7. New Beginnings (Movie 1)

**I changed the timeline a bit, so this all takes place in April 2007 and Sam is a sophomore, age 16 not 17**

**Warnings:** bad language and, well, it's movie one so - violence. This applies to all following chapters and may up the rating. Also, I will not at any point edit out curse words because they offend you. Sorry, but if you've met any person in the army, they do not always talk g-rated.

******Disclaimer**: I do not own Transformers. I'm not putting up this disclaimer again. It's annoying.

**World**: Harry Potter Book 1 and Transformers Movie/Novel-verse (and extra characters if I feel like it.) Plus, I may choose some situations from the book or my mind over the movie for detail and to make characters more 3 dimensional.)

_Flashback_ **OR** _S__panish_ if Fig is speaking and suddenly goes into italics (I only have a few correctly translated Spanish phrases in my arsenal)

'_thoughts'_

"Speaking"

_Chapter 7: New Beginnings_

_The orphanage was three stories tall with one bathroom and six bedrooms on each floor except for the first where there were only three bedrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. Each bedroom held six to eight cots pressed together in an effort to conserve space. _

_In the corner of one of these rooms sat a young boy who held a small bundle of cloth in his arms. The sound of loud voices and banging could be heard through the thin, creaky walls, but the boy ignored them and continued making faces and poking at the bundle, every now and then speaking in different voices._

_Soft footsteps moved toward the shut door of the room, the boy quieting and huddling closer to the shadows, all movement stopping as he did so. Dim light from the dying hallway lamps flickered into the room for a moment before being blocked by old wood once more. The boy relaxed._

"_Did you get it?"_

_Another boy knelt into the shadows to shuffle the bundle into his own arms, a full bottle of white liquid gripped in his hand._

"_Yeah. The old grump will be wondering where her money went tomorrow, but she won't suspect me."_

_Unfurling the cloth a bit, bright green eyes peaked up through onyx hair to stare somberly at the red haired brothers. The babe took the offered formula, eyes and ears still following the continuing conversation._

"_Of course not, how could she ever suspect Mr. Goody Two shoes?"_

"_And you convincing the other kids to be unruly tonight had absolutely _nothing_ to do with it."_

"_Well they'd listen to _you_ if you'd act your age and not like an old man." The first boy paused to give a sad smile to the babe who was tugging at his shirt, bottle finished and mouth opening and closing, a string of nonsense sounds bubbling out. "Don't worry, Emeralds, you'll get the hang of speakin' again soon enough. Then you can freak out the matron by reciting the child endangerment laws."_

_The babe rolled his eyes, but gave the boys a playful grin and giggled. "Heh-o ma beh-bee, heh-o ma ha-nee – "_

* * *

"Man, I still can't get over how hot it is here."

Electric blue eyes slid across the occupied seats of the CV 22 Osprey helicopter. The man who spoke wore standard military gear for a typical day scouting the area around Qatar, his brown-red hair cut short and hidden under a baseball cap. Donnely had been reassigned to William Lennox' team barely a month and no one could escape hearing those same words at least once a day. It didn't much endear the young desert newbie to the longer term soldiers.

"Ugh, boy, I swear! We don't need you to remind us of the damn heat. We're here too. Or have you been staring at the sun too long to see that?" Robert Epps, technical sergeant, rolled his eyes, not bothering to wait for a response before flipping on his radio and turning the volume up, a fast paced song quickly beating out and above the sound of the helicopter blades. Epps was just over 30 and a father of three with dark skin and expressive eyes as well as a passion for the technology he was in charge of on camp.

The group sat listening to the changing tunes for a while as their transport took them steadily closer to base for the incoming night just a few hours away. The companionship ended not long after Epps began to get a little too into his music.

A man near the back of the hold nodded to the old radio. "Hey, man, who sings that?"

Still swaying to the beat, Epps replied with the same tones of the song, "Ako~on."

The other man whacked his arm.

"Let's keep it that way, huh?" Will easily shrugged off the dirty look Epps threw at him, brandy brown eyes catching those of the other three men seated around him as the incensed singer began a teasing tirade on winning American Idol.

Jorge Figueroa, the 30-odd Chief warrant officer who simply went by Fig, shook his head, adjusting his sunglasses as he did so. "Another 8 months of this. I won't survive." He glanced pleadingly at Will. "Shield me from the horror."

Donnely snickered as Epps quickly flipped topics to target the spanish speaker.

"Oh, you can't deal with my American dream."

"Not when your singing makes the camels run _away_ from water."

"Well at least they don't run away just from being near me - "

Fig lunged forward, hand outstretched. "That happened _once_!"

"Yeah, while you were talkin' 'bout your cricket-stew!"

"Bobby, Bobby; it's called 'gumbo' not 'stew' and it was Prairie dog**_._** The crickets were sauteed in peanut oil - "

Donnely hunched over his seat, a fist pressed to his lips. "Ugh, both of you stop _talking_ about it!"

Creating a quick truce with Fig, Epps turned a wide grin to the younger soldier. "But, Donny, Donny; prairie dog meat tastes like - what was it? Pork!"

Watching the conversation for another minute, the last male in the cab finally waved off the older men. "Alright, that's enough. We have another 20 minutes in here and I don't want to spend it covered in Patrick's spew."

"Yeah, wouldn't want you to short-circuit again." Blue eyes narrowed.

"It's not physically possible for a human body to 'short circuit' AND - " Epps' mouth closed with a click. "If you even _think_ of calling me _that_ name ever again, I will end you."

The cab was silent as the man with wind blown, flame-colored hair leaned back in his seat, Epps and Will exchanging a glance. Then...

"Watch that blood pressure or you'll _Fritz_."

* * *

Although he would never say it aloud, in his very personal opinion, wars were stupid.

Yes, they create change and sometimes better living conditions, but the same can easily be done with laws and agreements between groups. And the initial reason for wars tended to be ridiculous in and of themselves. It was why they continued one after another. The losers in one war want revenge or restitution or something and so another battle is fought. The result is hundreds and thousands of people dying and leaving behind family and friends who suffer and then may or may not restart another war. An ongoing cycle of pain and hatred. It did nothing.

That didn't mean that he wouldn't help his "side" any way he could. A bit hypocritical, but he never really cared what other people thought of him as long as he did what he felt was right. The military always needs mechanics to repair their planes, tanks, and hummers, after all.

His induction into Colonel Lennox's squad was by pure chance. The older man, and now father, had been passing through the mechanics' tent while Fred had been arguing with Sergeant Selvis about improving the armor on the Humvees. Will had listened, asking questions on whether soldiers' survival rate increased with the armor, and agreed with him on it. Two weeks later, Lennox's special ops team had a new member. The extra physical and weaponry training was a pain to go through, but he wouldn't change a thing about it.

"Freddie!" Even when stationed just outside of a warzone.

Brown eyes met blue, the smaller of the two smiling with open glee. "Hey, Mahfouz. You been bothering the brutes for candy again?"

"No, just you. You got some, yes?"

Fred smacked his hand against his forehead. "Oh no! I ate all of it. It was delicious."

Mahfouz laughed, rocking on his feet. "No you did not!"

"Yes I did. Can't you tell how fat I've gotten? I think I'm even bigger than your papa."

"No! Not fat! Rail! Freddie, I have some, please?" Fred tapped his chin, humming thoughtfully.

"I don't know. Did you do those worksheets I gave you?"

"Yes!" A binder was quickly yanked from under robes, proudly displaying the messily written 'Mahfouz's English' on the cover. "Had Mister Ela-y-jah check it, too."

"_Elijah_." The recently-turned 24 year old reached back behind the bench to his pack, pulling out a snickers and tea bottle. "Here, go eat in the wreck hall."

Grinning, Mahfouz snatched the offered snacks. "Many thanks, Freddie!"

Fred waited until Mahfouz was out of sight before looking over his shoulder at Fig, the man leaning against a parked jeep. "You're good with kids, _amigo_."

"And you're telling me, why?" The older man shrugged, dropping himself onto the beaten wood beside the younger male.

"You gonna have some yourself sometime?" Fred shook his head with a huff.

"I'm not in a rush. I can wait the few years I have left on my term of service, Cookie."

Fig chuckled, lightly shoving the flame-head's shoulder. "You're never gonna stop that, eh, Fritz?"

"You just answered your own question."

The two rangers sat in silence, watching as the sun slid down the horizon and darkened the camp. Eventually, they had to separate with orders to check inventory, Fig on the east tent and Fred on the north. It wasn't until a group of armed combatants passed by that the younger paused in his work. Frowning, he leaned halfway out of the tent to see a MH-53 Pave Low coming low into base. Ducking back out of sight, Fred went on a spree, snatching up armor, guns, and ammo quicker than Mahfouz did with sweets. Wait...

"Shit, shit, shit!" Repeating the mantra faster as he ran, Fred made his way to the wreck hall, eyes locking onto the small 10 year old sitting near the back, tea bottle nearly empty. "Mahfouz, up! Get up, we gotta go!"

Brown eyes widened in surprise as the army-mechanic bodily scooped the smaller boy up and out of the shelter, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds as he jogged toward the east end of the compound. "Cookie, hey!"

Fig suddenly found himself with an armful of confused child, an armored vest soon tightened to his torso. "Wha -? Fritz, what's wrong wit you?"

"There's a Pav Low coming in. We need to find Will and Epps and the others and get ready. High powered but easy to carry. And water/ food in case we have to leave base." Every few words were punctuated by a magazine cartridge being suddenly thrust into either Fred's or Fig's pack. "Something is going to happen, we need to get ready for a fallout. There've been rumors for nearly a month now that we can't ignore - "

Fig readjusted his grip on the boy in his arms, head shaking in an attempt to ward off a headache."Ay,_ Tonto del culo_, Fritz! Calm yourself! There are always rumors and every time you hear them, you go off with the guns and the emergency drills and you piss off the general - "

Fred quickly rounded on him, snatching Mahfouz up and dressing him in a spare vest and helmet. "Ortiz was a jackass to begin with. And this is legitimate! When was the last time a helicopter landed with an armed group of soldiers to greet it?"

"Armed?" Picking up his own automatic, Fig leaned out the tent flap as though he could somehow see the airstrip through the the lines of tanks. "You mean like escort armed or like a 'we may or may not kill you' armed?" At the annoyed look, he lifted his hands in defense. "Yeah, you're right, dumb question. Ey, Epps! You know about this?"

Said sergeant jogged over to the tent, a frown pulling at his lips, brow furrowed. "I don' know 'bout nothin', but my signals copped out on me. Reception shouldn't be this bad without at least a breeze going through our sector." The darker man automatically took the gun thrust into his hands, barely taking the time to give his younger colleague a look when he noticed the armored munchkin half hidden behind the flap of the supply tent.

A sound like screeching feedback echoed through the camp, high pitched clicks and whirrs quickly following. Without warning, a thick wave of heated electricity blasted through the campsite, a warehouse near the landing strip going up in flames soon after.

For once, the two elder men were grateful for Fritz' paranoia.

Abruptly, Epps cursed and began sprinting toward the epicenter of the explosions, Fig trailing behind like an angry parent. "_La madre que te parió_, Epps! Where you goin'?!"

"Will has his vid night around the helipad! I ain't leavin' him without his gun!" The line of containerized housing units (CHU's) to the dark man's left burst outward into flames.

Tossing an automatic at a passing soldier, Fred scooped up his self-declared ward and followed after the older men, eyes peeled to catch a glimpse of whoever or whatever was destroying base like a lego playset. The team soon met up within the rows of tanks. Having the same worry of finding their group, Will was dragging Donnely along by the shirt, small handgun gratefully traded for Epps' automatic.

"Is everyone alright?"

"We're all good, man, but what the hell happened?! Who's attacking?!"

"Guuyyys, I think the better question is 'what'!" Following Donnely's wide gaze, Fred had a moment to think of how loudly George would squeal if he could see a fully automated robot moving around. As it was, having those glowing red eyes locked onto his very fragile form was probably the most terrifying thing he had ever experienced. Aside from 'dying.'

"MOVE!"

All four men followed the order without question. Through the smoke and debris, with only the stars and burning fires to light their way, they ran on until they were out of the base perimeter and then further still, waving at fellow soldiers to follow. Even as the concussive sounds of whatever weapon the metal behemoth was using thundered into their ears, screams and gunfire dwindling to nothing, they ran.

There weren't many survivors. Those who did were in a vague state of shock even as they sprinted through the desert night, some having witnessed their teammates incinerated, people they had shared their lives and memories with for months and sometimes years. Fred could name all of them.

His team had obviously lucked out, all five members living and mobile. Having the highest rank amongst them, Will took leadership, deciding to head for Mahfouz's village a little over day's trek away. Epps and Fig guarded his sides while Donnely trailed behind, attempting to comfort one of the quiet men.

Elijah Boyd. Dirty blonde and freckled, at age 28 he was a year older than Donnely. Usually silent whenever Fred had seen him, the one time he did speak was when a lunchtime conversation came up about why they signed into the forces. The man had never gone to college(barely even graduated high school), but he had a younger sister who wanted to get in, so he joined to save up enough money for her. His entire team had been on night shift in the control room: killed while he was grabbing them some coffee.

Jalmar Wilkons and Sean "Spaghetti Head" Wilder were teammates at opposites ends of the spectrum. Jalmar came from a small, spread out community in the south while Sean was raised in a jewish-italian home up in Newark, New Jersey. Nonetheless, the two got on well; Sean tending to talk enough for both of them. They were holding the right flank together, Sean on the outside, gun held high, and keeping a half-eye on his darker counterpart shuffling along beside him, face blank.

The last two were what Fred could easily assume as childhood friends. Both were tall and muscled with a solemn outward face and an uncanny knack for knowing when the other needed a hand, whether in work or socializing. Their birth names, Victor Cole and Jonathan Stone, were immediately translated into "StoneCold" the day of their arrival on base. Neither had spoken since meeting up with the rest of the survivors, but Fred could see a more vague version of how he and George used to communicate in their movements.

George. He really hoped they could get a pickup soon, because both his brothers were going to panic when news of the attack aired on the news the next day.

As the surviving troop of 10 made their way through the dark sands of Qatar, they didn't know that a large scorpion-like machine had been sent out to terminate them or that they would have to fight for the sake of their entire planet when they finally made it state side.

And an ocean away, a pair of broken glasses sat perched next to where a young teen lay still, dreaming of new cars and giant icemen.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Yeah, I'm finally in the Transformer-verse! After 6 'prequel' chapters...

For Fig's spanish "_Tonto del culo"_ is basically his way of fondly calling Fred stupid or silly. Literally "an idiot of an ass." Similarly, "_La madre que te parió" _is kinda like saying "motherfucker" but is literally "the mother who gave birth to you." "_amigo"_ means "friend" and if you didn't know that - how?


	8. Little Green Men

**Hi, I'm late updating. Sorry...**

******Warnings:** bad language and, well, it's movie one so - violence. This applies to all following chapters and may up the rating.

**'**_thoughts'_

_" - radio - "_

"Speaking"

::...:: comm links

**Cybertronian**

_Chapter 8: Little Green Men_

Spring break in highschool. A time where memories were made and not all of them good. Luckily for him, Sam knew better than to do anything too stupid or he would be grounded until 40. Though how his son had become so serious in the first place was beyond him.

Not that he was complaining. With his job at that fast food place, not only did Sam stop eating so much processed junk, he even earned enough money to buy his _own_ video games. Lord knows he had enough to deal with, what with Judy's new "bling" obsession. So many years together and he still couldn't understand where she got some of these fixations.

But that was beside the point. Highschool. Spring break. First cars. _That_ was why he was parked on the school curb under the hot sun of a Friday afternoon. Sam had his presentation today, which, if he got an A (or B - not that he told him that), would mean that his son would soon be the proud owner of his first car. A four thousand dollar car at the most, but that was how it was supposed to be when your old man was paying for half of it. It'll be fun to see his reaction anyway.

"Dad! Hey, Dad, I got it!" Speak of the devil and out he comes.

Just reaching the peak of his growth spurt at 5 feet 9 inches, Sam Witwicky bounded up to the deep green Austin Healey BJ8, grinning wide and proudly displaying a sheet of paper, his excited vibrating making it impossible to read.

"Look, see? It's an A- but it's still an A!"

"Hold on, let me see - " He paused, pulling out his reading glasses for dramatic effect. "... It's an A."

Ron generously allowed his progeny to dance in place, pretending the squeals of joy were shouts. Despite the growth in height, Sam's voice still cracked every once in a while when he got overexcited.

"Yeah, yeah, congratulations. Now get in."

Driving down the main road toward his pre-elected car lot, Ron saw something that his paternal teasing couldn't ignore. Innocently changing lanes, expression even, he waited for the music.

"No... no, no, no, No, NO! Dad! You're NOT!"

He laughed. "Yeah. You're right. I'm not buying you a Porsche." Ah, the face of adolescent indignation. Always a pleasure.

"That's not funny."

"Oh, I think it is."

"No, it's cruel. You-you're gonna scar me for life."

"Oh, _relax_. Drama queen."

"I'm - I'm not talking to you."

See? Way too serious.

* * *

"Nonono, Dad, _no._ What are we doing here?"

A year of working 4-9 on weeknights to save up $2000 to buy a car - freedom - and here he is: at a run down car lot with 'cheap' written on everything, from the almost heat-stroked clown to the one animal petting zoo. Somebody strike him down or at least tell him what he did to deserve this.

Of course, his oblivious parental unit had no sympathy. "I said I'd pay for half your car."

"Yes! You said you'd buy me half a _car_, not half a piece of crap! That- that one doesn't even have any tires! Dad, no! Drive back out before we're seen."

Too late. They hadn't fully parked when an older man in a bright sunhat and vest came strutting out from under the decrepit garage, greedy salesman smile plastered on. This was not happening. Turning toward his father, he tried once more to plead his case.

"Dad, please. Let's go somewhere else. Anywhere else. I don't want to be a 50 year old virgin!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "I don't know what you're getting so bent out of shape about. It's your first car. When I was your age, I'd have been happy with four wheel drive and maybe a radio."

"Radio? I want a - I need an _actual_ car. Y'know; that I can drive in public without covering my head with a bag!" Here, Sam paused, trying to explain his plight as clearly as possible. "I need a car that, when a girl sees it, thinks '_what a cool guy; I should talk to him_' not '_duck and cover; beware the spaz_'!"

The salesman was getting closer. "Now, you're wrong about that. Those expensive cars, like those porsches say 'I'm lazy and can't buy my own way.' _These_ cars, I think, say 'I'm an honest guy and I work hard for what I want.' You know: no sacrifice - "

" - no victory. Yeah, I know, but - "

"Heya, Gentlemen. Bobby Bolivia; like the country but without the ru'ns." Hesitating just for a moment, Ron shook the excited salesman's hand, Sam watching in sullen dismay. "What can I do for ya'll?"

"Ah, well, my son here is looking to buy his first car."

The man held a hand to his heart, eyes wide. Oh God.

"And you came to _me_? Well that practically makes us family." A hand snatched up Sam's limp fingers and shook his whole arm. "Uncle Bobby B, baby. Uncle Bobby B." Uncle Bobby's thick arm wound itself around Sam's shoulders, pulling him along toward the badly beaten inventory. The teen tried to send his father a plea, but his head couldn't turn far enough around. He did not want to listen to this airhead's sales pitch.

"Now let me tell you something, boy. Your first car is your first step into manhood. Under one of these hoods, your freedom awaits." Brown eyes locked onto nervous hazel. "I've been in this business a long time and one thing I've learned is that drivers don't pick their cars, no sir! It's the car that picks their driver. A mystical bond between man and machine - no lie! So, take a gander; over here - "

Sam blindly followed Uncle Bobby's directions through the rows upon rows of junkers, some nearly rusted straight through the frame. Nodding and humming at appropriate points, he tried to think happy thoughts like freshly baked cookies, and playing xbox with Miles, and Mikaela. Definitely Mikaela. Goddess of Tranquility, long black hair, beautiful blue eyes and just tan enough skin, well shaped curves, blinding...

Camaro. With cheap racing stripes and rust and quite possibly the most blinding yellow paint job he'd ever seen, but a _classic camaro_ among this extensive pile of garbage was a miracle. Pulling away from the rambling salesman and navigating through the maze of cars, Sam arrived at the hood of his social savior, soaking in the damages and putting together a mental list of what he'd need to fix. The rust could just be scraped off and the paint redone after a wash; Miles could help with that.

"Aw, yeah, this baby came in just - wait... this isn't..." Bolivia's confusion allowed the teen to slip into the unlocked car, the seat seemingly already adjusted to his body. Ignoring the owner's shouts to a 'Manny', Sam studied the black leather interior, checking for rips (none!) and the dash (an 8 track, but a working radio _and_ air conditioning). Leaning into the seat cushions, his thumb brushed over the middle of the steering wheel where an odd symbol, like a face, was imprinted.

Ron looked from his son's comfortable position in the driver's seat to the jumpy car dealer before coming to a decision. "Alright, how much for it?"

Sam straightened as the car dealer's confusion morphed into near-visible money signs. "Ah, well. Considering the semi-classic nature of the vehicle and custom paint job - "

That's not happening. "The paint's faded." Pausing from what was to be a long 'detailed' rant, Bolivia stared blankly at the firmly seated teen.

"Y-yeah, but it's custom."

"It's custom _faded_?"

Unable to come up with a proper response, he turned his grin to Ron. "Five thousand."

"Nope, not paying over four."

The man snapped his head back to the teen, grin gone. "Kid, get out the car."

And there went his ride. A glance at his father's face assured Sam that an assault on that front wouldn't go over well, so turned his pleas to the indignant car owner.

"But you said cars picked their drivers."

"Yeah, well, sometimes they pick a driver with a cheap-ass father. Get out!" The man twirled, arms spread wide to another part of the lot. "Now, over here, we have some new shipments, came in just last week - "

Sam slowly picked himself from out of the leather fitted interior, intent on somehow convincing _one_ of the elder men to lay off a thousand dollars. He never made it past the car's hood.

It started as a low rumble, more of a vibration than an actual sound, that steadily flooded the car lot until, violently, the windows of nearly half the clunkers burst in a shower of glass. Sam hesitantly looked out from the camaro's seat where he had ducked to avoid the shrapnel. His father was crouched with his hands covering his balding head, just beginning to peek around the lot. The salesman was completely frozen, wide eyes scanning his destroyed livelihood before they met Sam's own wide hazel from behind the camaro's unbroken windshield.

"Ya'll got that four thousand in cash?"

* * *

If not for the dirt and rust, the bright yellow and black striped camaro could have been a proud sight. As it was, the few places where the deep red color clung were being steadily buffed away by two teens, one a skittish brunette and the other a slouching blonde; both wore protective masks and goggles due to the insistence of the latter's aunt. After another half hour of this treatment, no rust could be seen.

It took another hour for the two boys to put on a primer and re-paint the bright yellow color onto the metal body, until, finally, it only needed to dry. The morning and afternoon passed, then the night and noon again until, at around 3 o'clock the next day, the two boys stood, shirtless, at the hood of the car. Colorful buckets filled with warm, soapy water decorated the driveway in a very wet parody of Twister, bright yellow sponges held firmly in the boys' hands.

A new car in full working order despite being bought by El Cheap-o and then a sale on the equipment needed to fix it up. Mega-lucky. The last time something this good happened was when their families won a trip to some water park.

Miles did another once over of the car before grinning at his old preschool playmate. It only happened every once in a while but when Sam had a good day, his luck pulled out all the stops. Now all Miles had to do was watch for the fallout. After all, that trip to the water park ended with Sam nearly drowning.

"So, start with the body then polish the interior?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't really have any polish, but Windex works, right?"

The two got to work, washing off the dust and dirt and bug guts in the grill, taking longer than necessary when the boys' respective pet Labrador and chihuahua (Bones and Mojo) crashed through the bucket maze, starting a water war in the lawn. Sponges flew, dogs barked, and Ron finally put a stop to it when he saw his poor grass suffering. Waiting for their shorts to drip dry, the two made snacks and talked about random things, Bones panting happily at their feet while Mojo lay down in his 'Penthouse.'

Once dry, they started dusting off the interior and trunk, vacuuming the carpet and wiping the windows. Finally, the only thing left was the undercarriage and engine. Miles ran into the garage, rolling out his old skateboard and taking the slightly soapy rag Sam handed to him. Sliding under the car, his hair tied in a light ponytail, Miles started scrubbing off the caked on grime and... other stuff he couldn't identify. He paused when Sam let out a curse.

"What's up, man?"

A huff. "The hood won't open."

Shrugging, the blonde called back up, "Try hitting the way front part, that sometimes gets stuck on my uncle's old truck. 'Latch might've rusted."

A loud thunk and click were quickly followed by a relieved sigh. "Thanks, Miles."

Sam's eyebrows rose when he laid eyes on the engine. He didn't know much about mechanics, but this thing was definitely high tech. The previous owner must've forgotten to take back his merchandise. He shrugged, squeezing the excess water from his rag and starting to scrape away the dry oils. Their loss, his gain.

Two days later, Miles was sitting in the passenger seat of the restored classic, blue eyes glancing out the lowered window.

"Dude, are you sure we're invited to this party?"

Sam nodded a little too rapidly, his own eyes nervously taking in the sheer number of teenagers sitting and socializing around the small lake.

"Yeah, it's public property, no big deal." And it wouldn't be because he had one goal in mind for this party: showing off his new ride. As long as Miles didn't do anything too stupid in his nervousness he'd be golden. That was the plan. Until Sam caught sight of one very important detail he must have missed. "Oh, shaa-shit. Mikaela's here. She's here. She's _here_."

Miles rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I can see that. Deep breaths, dude. Don't suffocate on me."

Sam wasn't listening, mind shutting down in full panic, patting off invisible dust from his freshly ironed shirt and muttering. "Oh, no. How do I look? Do I smell? Is my hair okay?"

Waving a hand, the blonde tried to calm his friend down. "Yeah, you're good. You're fine, come on."

Stepping out into the sunshine (what was left of it anyway), Sam and Miles made their way toward the sand, passing by a dark blue truck owned by one Trent DeMarco. Apparently too close by as said owner blocked their way.

"Hey, uh. What are you doing here, Witwacky?"

"Wit-_wicky_. Uh." Sam held back a groan as a glance at Miles revealed the blonde attempting to climb a nearby tree, safely out of jock-bashing range. "We're here t... to climb this tree."

"Oh yeah, that looks... fun." The buff quarterback glanced behind his shorter classmate, catching sight of the brightest yellow color he'd ever seen. "So that's yours?"

"Yeah, had to - " Sam nearly choked as Mikaela suddenly appeared from behind the truck, an odd look across her features. " - had to scrape off some rust and put some primer and paint on, but, yeah. He's all mine. Bought and paid for. Totally." Oh God, stop rambling!

"Y-yeah." The wheels of thought were visible on the larger teen's face, posture straightening as he caught sight of the beauty behind him. "Actually you look real familiar. You tried out for the team last year, didn't you?"

No, no he didn't. Figment of your lack of imagination. "Naw, that was - I was just... researching for a book, yeah."

Trent nodded along, a smirk spreading across his face. "What kind of book was it? A Guide to failing at life?"

Mikaela was frowning. "No, actually, it was on the link between sports and brain damage. You and your friends would love it. It's got pop up pictures and little puzzles, it's real great fun."

"Oh, you think you're funny, wise guy?" Just as Sam was certain he'd be going home without a limb, his savior arrived in a glowing halo.

"Alright, that's enough, Trent. Step back." Mikaela in all her curvy glory stood firmly between geek and jock, one hand braced against the latter's chest. An insistent tugging on his elbow forced Sam to move away from the scene, Miles dragging him back to the parked car.

"Dude, do you _want_ to die?"

Sam, of course, was long gone, his eyes still following the dark haired girl's movements. "She stood up for me."

"Aw, come on, _don't_, Sam. EJC, remember? Evil Jock Concubine? She probably didn't want to bail her buddy outta jail later for slaughtering you."

Opening the driver's door, Miles left the thunderstruck brunette standing and moved to the passenger seat to wait it out. Suddenly, the old radio scratched on, flipping through stations until crooning lyrics filtered out the window.

" - _Who's gonna drive you home tonight? Who's gonna pick you up - "_ **  
**

"Hey, what's wrong with the radio?"

"I'm gonna drive her." Miles shot up at the whisper, following Sam's gaze down the road to where... When the fallout for all this luck came, Miles desperately hoped he wasn't anywhere nearby.

"You're not serious?" Very serious, Miles was quickly discovering, as Sam started the engine, pleading eyes locked onto his own.

"Miles, you need to get out the car!"

"No! How am I getting home, dude?"

"We barely live a 15 minute walk from here, Miles. She lives nearly an hour away _driving_. I..." Hazel eyes glanced at the retreating back of the girl of his dreams. "I'm pulling the wingman card-"

Miles was slack jawed. "Aw, geez - "

"No, out the car; I owe you complete details and a favor, no expiration date!"

"... Anything?"

Sam nodded, vibrating in his seat. "Yes, bro-swear. Now, _please!" _Miles switched his gaze between Sam's tense shoulders and Mikaela's retreating form, hitting the dash before getting out with an exaggerated eye roll.

"_Fine_, but Concubine or not, I want good details!"

"Definitely, thank you!" The camaro's tires squealed, picking up dust as it sped off. Just as a last shot, Miles shouted.

"That includes how she tastes!"

* * *

Mikaela knew she was terrible person. She also knew that she would probably never make anything of herself, even with her high grades. She'd probably stay stuck in a low wage job in some run down repair shop, working on engines until she died. What a life.

All those stuck up rich kids who had futures just because of who their parents were? She hung around them in some twisted attempt to fool herself into believing that she could have a future too; that she was wanted. And now, she had pissed off the head honcho, so to speak. All for some random kid.

"Mikaela! It's Sam! Witwicky!" Still walking, she turned to the voice. The same guy from earlier, the one she helped, was in his blinding yellow 1979 camaro with his head rapidly switching from her to the road. "I hope I didn't get you in trouble or anything? No? Uh... So I was wondering if I could take you home? Or, no, drive you. To _your_ home. Your house - if that's okay?"

He was awkward. Awkward and nerdy and everything Trent and those Others hated, but she had had enough of them for one day. For one _year_. So she got in.

It was quiet and she stewed in it, waiting for some smart ass comment to come out of his mouth about her.

"So..."

"I can't believe I'm here."

"Oh, well you can duck down if you want. I won't mind." Oh no, she just said that out loud, didn't she?

"No - not. I'm sorry, I didn't mean here with _you_. I meant: here, in this _situation_." And she felt like crying because the way his head tilted toward her made it look like he was actually _listening_ and she couldn't stop herself. She wanted to see if he was honest or if he was just another one of _them_. "The same situation I'm always in. 'Cause... I don't know, maybe I just have an attraction to hot guys with... tight abs and big arms."

The kid - she forgot his _name_? - looked blank a moment, mouthing her words. Then, he was pointing out different parts of the car and trying to flex his barely there muscles. She pressed her lips together to hold off the odd burst of amusement she felt. He was trying so hard.

"So are you new to school here?" She knew she had seen him before, not just for that last presentation, but she asked anyway; if just to remember his name.

"No, I've... We've been in school together. Since first grade." He remembered her from so far back?

"So, do we have any classes together? Other than History?" He looked surprised a moment, his mouth twitching into a smile.

"Yeah, uh. English... Algebra, Biology."

OH! "Sam, right?" His head nodded rapidly, smile wider than before.

"Yeah! Sam."

"Wit, uh... God, I'm sorry, I'll butcher it."

"No, no! It's Witwicky a-and it's fine. Pretty much everyone gets it wrong." Witwicky, Wit-wicky. Don't mispronounce it.

" - _And when I get that feeeling! I want ~ sexual heeealing! - _" She jumped at the suddenly loud music, staring at the boy - _Sam, _who looked completely mortified.

"Uh, sorry: new car. Still working out the kinks, hehh." Hastily tuning the old radio, Sam steadily became paler and more frantic with each passing song. Mikaela steadily began shaking from suppressed laughter, wondering how Sam managed not to crash with half his attention off the road.

" - _I like big butts and I can not lie -"_

"I'm so sorry, I wouldn't -"

_"- Hey hey you you I could be your girlfriend - _"

"I'm not like this. I wouldn't try this on you! Not that you're not worth it, because you're totally worth it - "

_" - Fergalicious definition make them boys go crazy - "_

"STOP! Turn off - OFF!"

" - _Baby, bye bye bye! - _" Abruptly, the radio cut out. The two teens sat still, car idling on the road side as two sets of eyes stared at the innocently silent radio. Mikaela made the mistake of looking up to gauge her escort's reaction.

"AH-hahahaha!" Sam was leaning into his seat as though thrown, one eyebrow arched high and both arms splayed in front of him as if holding off an invisible force, hazel eyes blinking wide in confusion. The boy immediately corrected his position at her laugh, face red and sputtering excuses. Mikaela just shook her head, trying and failing to calm herself down from her fit.

"Uh, I'll just start driving again. Yeah." As they began moving, Mikaela finally noticed Sam's odd silence and purposefully took a few deep breaths.

"I haven't laughed that hard in forever."

"Oh, heh. Well... You should... do it more often." She smiled.

For the rest of the ride, they traded stories about school and friends (a good portion of which was spent describing Miles and coming up with various names for the DeMarco progeny). Her talent in mechanics briefly came up and was quickly glazed over with a vague, "I'll tell you later." Their conversation lasted until she realized they had been parked in front of her house for a while. Opening the door, she stayed seated a moment longer before speaking bluntly.

"Do you think I'm shallow?"

Sam had that lost look again. "Do I think...? No. No, you're... you're more than... I'm really glad, _really_ glad I could talk with you. As _you_ and not as," here, he made a sweeping motion to somewhere behind him. "whatever you have to be in front of those guys."

"I would drop them in a heartbeat."

Mikaela never turned around, practically running into her house and shutting the door with a bang. Awkward and nerdy and everything those Others hated, but she was so glad she got into his car.

* * *

4 Solarcycles, 5 orns, and 2 joors. In human terms: 4 years, 2 months, 3 days, and 12 hours. Either way, it was a long time staying transformed in an alien alt mode on an alien planet surrounded by aliens all the while looking for an ancient artifact that had been missing for nearly two hundred and twenty one _vorns_ (18,343 years). He was good at his job: a scout of the highest caliber, able to blend in anywhere and adapt to any culture, but he had never needed to blend into any environment for more than a single solarcycle, and even _that_ was rare.

Four years with his scanners on high as he drove and smuggled himself from country to country, through falling ice (hail) and rain (thankfully _not_ acidic) not once finding a trace of the powerful energy the Allspark was known for. Nothing on the common streams of the local organics' networks so much as alluded to a giant cube of energy or even a suspicious case of mechanical malfunctions.

Speaking of organics, they were one of the reasons he hadn't offlined from boredom (and he was really becoming quite fond of their phrases.) He had never been on an organic planet with sentient inhabitants before, though Hound had told him of a techno-organic species he had met at some point.

Human beings were a small race, barely matching a cassette in height, and extremely fragile. Too hot, too cold, regular weather patterns, flesh eating predators, even something as simple as falling the wrong way could injure or kill them. Everyday they lived, there was a risk of dying; yet they barely batted an eye (again, these phrases fit so well) and continued forward. Not that they didn't mourn when someone close to them was lost, oh no, they mourned long and hard and kept that baggage with them (though it wasn't always a good thing) but they_ kept moving forward_.

And they thrived! Building up their own societies with technology that, while primitive by cybertronian standards, stood as a noteworthy accomplishment. Medicines, entertainment, education, and, like his own race, weaponry (though thankfully only a few were horribly devastating; the Nuclear Bomb being considered a 'taboo': have it on hand but never use.)

Their entertainment was what really piqued his interest, though. When speaking with his comrades, he had to use pantomime, vague clicks and whirrs, and communication links which were encrypted to all pit in case there was a decepticon interceptor nearby. On Earth, because of all the movies and songs and other media, he had an endless supply of recordings to use that could properly express what he was feeling. He could have conversations - _actual_ conversations - with his friends again.

He would need practice, though. Lots of practice. His first real attempt at communication, though it wasn't seen as such, was apparently inappropriate.

Very inappropriate if Sam's reaction was anything to go by.

Sam...

It was almost enough to make him cry... if cybertronians _could_ cry. Four years of searching and it was his boredom and curiosity in human culture that led him to his goal. Browsing through websites intended to sell things - sometimes very odd things - an ad for a pair of old glasses worn by a former explorer caught his attention. He wasn't really sure why, but it did. A quick search through internet history and an article on Archibald Witwicky popped up explaining an exciting life. Well off with a mate(wife) and four sparklings(children), a career in exploring, surviving a trip to the Arctic Circle, and finding the leader of the Decepticon Army frozen in the ice caps.

Of course, the article said nothing about Megatron, but he was the only 'giant iceman' aka(also known as) cybertronian who had been missing while looking for the Allspark, which so happened to be on Earth. While training in scouting and combat, it was drilled in that assumptions could get you killed. A certain human phrase just about summed up his response: if it looks like a duck, swims like a duck, and quacks like a duck, it's _probably_ a duck.

Another detail the article mentioned - the main focus really - was that Archibald Witwicky had gone insane writing 'bizarre' cybertronian symbols which, when he magnified the ad's photo of the glasses, were also imprinted on the lenses. That same photo wasn't a very clear picture, the camera's flash blocking some areas and the pixals melding and blurring everywhere. Bumblebee would have to physically find them to locate the Allspark.

Which led him to the small town of Tranquility, Nevada in the United States of America where 3 of Archibald Witwicky's descendants lived. The official owner of the spectacles was a 16 year old human youngling(teenager) by the designation of Samuel James Witwicky. Sam for short. Finding his home and following the boy to his education center(highschool), Bumblebee listened in to Sam and his generator(parent) Ronald Witwicky speaking and discovered his best chance at getting close enough to find Captain Witwicky's glasses.

A first car, in human culture, was similiar to a cybertronian acquiring their 3rd and final youngling frame. Both situations allowed more freedom and choice while also giving more responsibility and this time was usually remembered for the rest of their lifecycle. It was needed for his mission, but Bumblebee still couldn't quite contain his excitement when, despite the rust that had built up over his travels, Sam had chosen him with just a glance from across the large car lot. He also couldn't reign his temper when the human owner of the lot denied Sam his choice. Destroying a part of the salesman's livelihood with a recording of the seeker Thundercracker's sonic boom was definitely not the most subtle thing he could have done, but he honestly could not have cared less.

That sentiment was re-enforced when not even an orbital cycle(day) later, Sam and his friend Milton Lancaster(called Miles) began what he happily dubbed the most high class spa treatment he had ever gone through. Sunstreaker would be writhing in jealousy even _with_ his probable aversion to human skin oils. The rust from his frame was buffed out then coated with primer and repainted, and, after that, he was cleaned _everywhere_. Some places he had never been able to get by himself before! And even though he wasn't sure if he wanted those small organic fingers so close to his inner circuitry, he allowed it and _mech_ was it worth it.

So when Sam showed interest in a female of his species, it seemed only fair that he try to help out. It was, however, inappropriate and unwanted; Sam coming close to hitting him until he shut off.

Not going as well as he thought it would, he had sheepishly lowered his shocks to the gravel when, finally, the female (Mikaela Banes) began laughing. After that, the two humans were exchanging stories and seemed to be getting along quite well. He was still a bit uncertain of the last exchange, but Sam wouldn't stop grinning as he drove home, not even when Bumblebee took control of the radio again. Either way, Sam enthusiastically singing along to 'Celebration' was unbelievably endearing.

But it wasn't the end of the day. Bumblebee had confirmed that the glasses with the Allspark's coordinates on them were with Sam and he needed to inform the team that was finally coming within range of the planet - would be able to land in another day - that Sam would be his ward until they found the Allspark.

In hindsight, he should have realized the result of having such an exciting day. He should have checked his charge's vitals to make sure he was fully in recharge(REM sleep.) But he didn't. And Sam followed him, thinking he had been stolen, all the way to the construction sight where he sent out the coordinates for where his commander and team should land. Not only was his charge chased by quadrupedal carnivores(dogs) and then arrested for trespassing, he had seen him in his root mode.

Bumblebee learned something about attachment when he drove back into Sam's driveway the next day. It was one thing to see someone scared and regret causing that fear. It was a whole other situation when that person who was so utterly terrified was your _charge,_ the one you were meant to _protect_, and that they were frightened of _you_. And it hurt. Almost unnervingly so.

Regardless of his guilt, his urgency to find his charge overrode all other protocols. Especially when Barricade's energon signature appeared barely a mile off where Sam had run to. If he had to frighten his boy to prevent the decepticon from getting his servos on him, then he would.

He barely made it.

Mikaela had somehow crossed paths with Sam, Barricade chasing both of them in his root mode. Careening into the garage-esque area, Bumblebee barreled his alt mode into the fake cop's peds. Skidding to a halt just shy of the two teenagers, he threw open his door with honk of his horn.

A moment passed. Then Sam's face set and he dove inside, dragging Mikaela along with him.

Bumblebee sped through roadways, past neighborhoods and restaurants toward an electricity plant that had closed for the night. No witnesses, no one to get in the way, and many places for Sam and his potential mate(girlfriend) to hide. Both teens were panicking - screaming - during the chase, but they were quiet when it was needed and quickly removed themselves from his interior when he motioned for them to, so he could transform.

Getting tackled by the slightly bigger decepticon scout was comparable to one of Ironhide's playful backslaps. Using a ped to knock him off, Bumblebee glanced around to check whether his humans were out of the combat zone, earning a spiked chain to his side. All the while, Barricade cursed at him.

**"Fragging scout! Out of my way, Autoscum!"**

Whirring a challenge, he dodged the wide punch and configured his cannon, aiming toward the slightly larger mech's chassis. The faux police'man' growled, redirecting the blast so it grazed past his shoulder plating. Grabbing onto yellow armor, the mech pulled, ignoring the punches denting his helm.

Thrown into a generator, Bumblebee heard the sound of a cassette ejection. Since when did Barricade have a tapedeck implanted?

Twisting to avoid another swing of the chain, the yellow mech took hold of his counterpart's chassis, bodily tossing him down a ravine and vaulting after - peds first. He felt an odd vindication at the pained shout and gave a last hard punch to the black, sparking helm.

Setting his scanners on low, he quickly identified his humans just beyond a nearby hill. Checking himself for damages and energon smearings, he carefully made his way over, wings twitched up in anxiety. He was going to speak to Sam. Well, sort of speak, anyway. Unwillingly, his servos rested themselves on his hips, intakes heaving.

And there they were, Sam just a few feet ahead of Mikaela, missing his outer lower covering(pants) and... he was injured. Small cuts and scrapes on his forearms and face and knees, bleeding slowly, thickly with the planet's gravity. But he wasn't afraid. Bumblebee could thank Primus for that small mercy.

"Can you talk?" The question was hesitant and filled with so much awe, deep green optics(eyes) wide as the small human watched him approach.

" - _XM Satellite Radio - Digital cable brings you - Columbia Broadcasting System - _" It was a mesh barely resembling speech, but it did its job. Sam could understand him.

"So you talk through the radio?" Sam's expression was open, Mikaela slowly edging up closer behind.

" - _Thank you, you're beautiful, you're wonderful_. - "

"So, so what was that last night? With the Bat signal?" Batman. A comic book hero. Sam read those stories with Miles.

" - _Message from Starfleet Captain - throughout the unanimous vastness of space - and they will rain down like visitors from heaven hallelujah_! - "

Now Mikaela was closer to him, blue eyes examining his form. "Visitors. So, you're an alien? A robot-alien?"

::**Bumbl... anding... site... two bre...**:: Oh. Transforming back into his earth alt mode, Bumblebee swung his door open, inviting his humans in.

" - _Any more questions you want to ask? - _"

Mikaela hesitated just a moment, but gathered strength from Sam who had already moved to the open door and was waiting for her. Taking the offered hand, they settled in as he drove off to the estimated landing site.

The battle hadn't quite started yet, so Bumblebee took solace in the quiet conversation of his two humans, Sam managing to have Mikaela sit in his lap for 'safety' purposes. Maybe he should research more into human mating habits...

"So, uh, Mr... Camaro?" Mikaela's eyes were wandering over his dash, likely looking for eye-contact. He gave her a questioning whirr, which both humans smiled at. "You're, like, a really advanced, er, _race_ of people, right?"

Flipping through channels, he settled on a female voice drawing out a 'yeeaahhh.'

"Um, so did you choose this old thing because you liked how it looked or...?"

Bumblebee almost skidded to a stop in the middle of the road.

_Old?_

He knew humans had short life cycles (spans), but surely 28 years couldn't be considered _old_? Rapidly researching his earthen alt mode, he found that nearly every year, a new make was made and the one he had chosen just over 4 years ago was outdated 'to the nth power.' And he knew at least two of the team landing would chose a 'high end' model and another would have to choose an imposing model just to fit their size. Like pit he would be showed up by mechs old enough to be his ancestors!

Swinging open his door to tilt the teens out on the sidewalk, he turned around and scanned through the traffic to find something to fit - there! The color was wrong, but that was easily fixed. Scanning the 2007 model camaro, Bumblebee readjusted his outer plating to correctly mimic the sleeker form. Bouncing a bit on his shocks, he swiftly U-turned back to where he had left his humans, smugly revving his engine as they watched him pull up.

"Guess you didn't know about the yearly models, then, huh, Big Guy?"

Oh, Sam would not be calling him that once he met Optimus. Speaking of whom -

Bumblebee curved under a rusting bridge and parked facing the large, ornate building across the way. " - _visiters from heaven!_ - "

Sam and Mikaela watched wide-eyed as Optimus' space pod flew, burning, over their heads and crash landed over the tree line.

::**Bumblebee, send out coordinates to a meeting place where we will not disturb the humans.**:: '_A little late for that, Boss bot.'_ None the less, he sent out the numbers to the four arrivals and headed toward the alley of an abandoned warehouse district.

Rolling in, he stopped halfway through and turned on his headlights just as the forms of his team appeared at the opposite end. Optimus arrived first in the form of a Peterbilt 279 Semi, his flaming red and blue paint shining in the dim lighting. A florenscent yellow and red emergency rescue Hummer pulled up to his left, and a black GMC Topkick to his right. He briefly wondered if Ratchet and Ironhide meant to change their colors to try and be more discreet or if they were just too lazy to incorporate their normal paint jobs. Finally, a silver Pontiac solstice moved into his view, Jazz's lower tones filtering through the comm link.

::**Ey, Bee, I thought you said you just had one human that could help us?**:: Taking a moment to let his humans out to watch as his leader and comrades switched into their root forms, Bumblebee gave a shrug. He nearly regretted it when Ratchet raised an optical ridge at the action, the tingle of a scan spreading over his form.

::**Barricade interrupted. The female is Sam's potential mate Mikaela.**:: Jazz's transformation sequence twisted midway so he could do a flip. Show off.

Optimus lightly interrupted them before a conversation could truly start, voice deep and calming as always. ::**Comm links off. We must to introduce ourselves properly. Bumblebee, you have a translation packet for us?**:: Quickly sending out the information, Bumblebee placed himself just behind the two teenagers in a defensive stance. Ironhide acknowledged the motion with narrow optics.

As Optimus bent down toward the two humans, he could see Mikaela had once again taken position just behind Sam who, in turn, held her offered hand.

"Are you Samuel James Witwicky, descendant of Archibald Witwicky?"

Mikaela's voice was small and awestruck, as most of those who met Optimus were. "He knows your name."

Sam looked a bit lost as his head gave a slight nod. "Yeah."

Optimus mimicked the nod. "My name is Optimus Prime. We are autonomous robotic organisms from the planet Cybertron."

Ratchet snorted and waved off their Prime's dramatics. "You can call us Autobots for short."

"Autobots. Cool."

::**What does temperature have to do with anything?**:: Oh, _that_ was what he forgot to put into the language packet.

::**It's slang, Docbot, I'll explain it later. Just... don't take everything they say literally.**::

::**I got you on that!**:: "What's crackin' lil bitches!" Bumblebee could feel his helm beginning to hurt. Not all human slang was necessarily _friendly_. Optimus immediately noticed his discomfort and waved for Jazz to calm down.

"My first lieutenant, designation Jazz."

Trying out a few earthling poses, Jazz landed himself on the wreckage of an earth vehicle. "This looks like a cool place to kick it!"

Despite the known derogatory swear word spilling from his superior's glossa, Sam appeared more relaxed than before, smiling even. "'Kick it'? How do you know - where did you learn to speak like that?"

Optimus stood. "We have learned Earth's languages through the World Wide Web." ::**Just a few, Boss bot. There are more cultures on one continent here than on all of cybertron**.::

A quick whirring alerted the scout to Ironhide who had begun twirling his prized plasma cannons around. Ratchet rolled his optics.

"My weapons specialist: Ironhide."

"You feelin' lucky, punk?" Bumblebee instinctively knew Ironhide wouldn't hurt a youngling, regardless of their specie, but he couldn't hold in the slight glare he gave his former guardian.

"_Easy_ Ironhide." Acknowledging both warnings, the heavily armored mech subspaced his weaponry.

"Just kidding. I just wanted to show them my cannons." Hm, the human-applied innuendo - which Sam caught immediately if his grin was any indication - almost made up for the threat to his charge. Jazz shot him a grin; he had probably went straight to translating slang terms after his unnoticed slip up in curse words. Another count to how many ways the special ops mech could insult someone.

That also meant Ratchet had probably glanced over available references to human medicine.

"My medical officer Ratchet."

Both humans jumped as the CMO scanned them. ::**Bumblebee, do you know -** ::

::**Mikaela and Sam are potential mates. Humans tend to be very 'shy' about it - don't say _anything_.**::

Ironhide tilted his helm. ::**Your guardian protocols are on full blast, Youngling**.::_  
_

"And you already know your guardian Bumblebee." Quickly flipping moods and radio channels, Bumblebee imitated a boxer, bouncing on his peds.

" - _Check the rep, yep! Second to none! - _"

"Bumblebee, huh? You're my guardian?" Sam's attention was fully on him, but Mikaela's was slipping from him to Ratchet.

"How come he can't talk like you all? Is he hurt?" He gave a shrug, twiddling his digits (fingers)a bit. Ratchet gave him a stern look, choosing to ignore the odd motions.

"His vocal processors were damaged in battle. I'm still working on them." Coughing at the brief lazer scan of his vocals, he watched Mikaela turn to face Optimus.

"W... why are you here?"

::**That's the question of the vorn.**:: Jazz was trying out other movements now, shrugging and nodding and giving a brief thumbs up.

"We have come to your planet in order to find the Allspark. And we must find it before Megatron."

"Mega-who?" Ironhide snorted, a frown pulling at his faceplates. ::**We're dragging along the younglings of a species ignorant to our war.**::

Ratchet ex-vented, just as unhappy. ::**We do not have much of a choice at this point**.::

The broken concrete of the street was covered by the images - memories - of the war on cybertron, Megatron's dark visage sneering at the mass of dead beneath him.

"Our planet was once a powerful empire, peaceful and just. But then, Megatron betrayed us, leading a faction he called the decepticons. All who defied him were destroyed. Our war lasted until it finally consumed our planet and the Allspark fled to the stars. From what we have uncovered, Megatron followed it to Earth where Captain Witwicky found him."

Sam's eyes were wide. "The Iceman."

"Precisely. The orbit of your planet differs from our own, causing him to crash land before he could retrieve the Allspark. When your ancestor found him, he somehow activated Megatron's navigation's system and the coordinates to the Cube's location was imprinted onto his glasses."

"How do you know about the glasses?" Mikaela didn't seem to consciously ask the question. He quickly searched through the internet for a clip.

" - _on E~bay_ - "

Sam's smile was a short one. "Right. Of course."

Ratchet glanced out of the alleyway at a far off siren. "If the decepticons find the Allspark, they will use its power to bring life to earth's machines and build a new army."

"And the human race will be extinguished." Optimus locked optics with Sam's green eyes, voice grave. "Sam Witwicky, you hold the key to Earth's survival."

Sam and Mikaela were both pale, hearts beating fast as they craned their necks to look them all in the face. Mikaela was gripping Sam's bloody, torn shirt - he was still missing his pants. "Please tell me you have those glasses."

* * *

**Author's Notes**

Done! Finally!

So, I changed a few things, added a few things, dropped a few things and left some things as they were. How were the viewpoints, was it okay or did they seem odd at all? Any requested viewpoints?

**Bumblebee's Speech Bubbles**

I don't know what Movie Bumblebee said except

- "Who's gonna drive you home tonight? Who's gonna pick you up" which is from Whose Gonna Drive You Home by Cars

- "Check the rep, yep. Second to none" which is Second to None by Styles Of Beyond ft. Mike Shinoda

- and "And when I get that feeeling! I want - sexual heaaling" which is Sexual Healing by Marvin Gaye

My replacement/add-in quotes were

- "I like big butts and I can not lie" I Like Big Butts by MC Hammer

- "Hey hey you you I could be your girlfriend" Girlfriend by Avril Lavigne

- "Fergalicious definition make them boys go crazy" Fergalicious by Fergie

- "Baby, bye bye bye" Bye bye bye by Nsync

- what Sam sings in Bumblebee's car Celebration by Ronald Bell

- "on E~bay" from Ebay Parody Song by Wierd Al Yankovic

**There will be no more mentions of the HP-verse. Do not ask about it, no one will be going 'back.'**


	9. Predator (Time Units)

******Okay, there are many sites and fics that have different interpretations of **Cybertronian Time** measuring. These are mine and might not be the same:

**Vorn = 83 human years**

******Solar Cycle** = 1 year (how long it takes for a planet to orbit a sun)

******Orn** = 13 human days

******Orbital** **Cycle** = a day (how long it takes for a planet to rotate on its axis)

******Joor** = 6 hours

******Groon** = 1 hour

******Breem** = 8.3 minutes

******Klik** = 1.2 minutes

"_spanish" - _Fig

"speaking"

"_- radio -_ "

**Cybertronian**

******::...:: **comm link

* * *

**_Chapter 9: Predator_**

* * *

The dunes were glowing gold under the red-orange sky, large rocky mountain tops casting long shadows, the air steadily loosing the coldness of night as the sun began to reheat the old sands. Just barely seen among the rock-scattered desert were the silhouettes of ten men and one child trekking through the dawn. As the sun rose higher into the sky, the small group of survivors never stopped moving. It wasn't until midday, the sun at its highest peak, that the group halted at the top of a dune where an abandoned tank sat rusting in the sun, their goal just a small spec in the distance.

Fred passed around the remaining water to the tired soldiers, keeping a steadying hand on Mahfouz's shoulder. The boy hadn't been able to keep up during the night, the men having to take shifts to carry him. None of them slept. The threat of that... being coming after them repelled any chance of rest.

Epps was fiddling with his thermal imager where he had managed to snap a quick picture of their enemy. "I've only seen a weapons system like this in theories. The thermal shows this weird aura around the metallic exoskeleton. Like it's cloaked by some kind of invisible force field."

Donnelly gave nervous half snort. "Force field? We're not in some science fiction novel, man. There's no such thing." The younger male shifted when no one immediately agreed. "...Right?"

Will came up behind his tech sergeant, frowning. "We can't leave out any options at this point. Any ideas?"

"My mama," Fig was sat on the sand, his neck chain held to his mouth. "she has the gift, y'know? She saw things. I think I got that gene. That thing back there? It's gonna come back. This isn't over, not by a long shot."

Donnely shook his head, hands carting through his hair. "Oh, yeah, Mr Voodoo Magic? Then why don't you use your 'Gift' to get us the hell out of here?"

Fig straightened, pulling his sunglasses off. "Now you better not be questioning my mama, Specs."

"Your mama isn't trapped in the middle of a desert after an entire US base was flattened by some freaky robot monster!" Donnelly was moving toward the warrant officer, fists clenched. Will grabbed the sergeant, shoving him back from the fuming spaniard.

"Hey, stop! This isn't the time for this! Listen." Both men were calmer now with Lennox between them, but continued to give each other assessing glances. "That thing came in stealth, destroyed all communications and all evidence that it was ever there. That means it didn't want anyone - any of the higher ups to know it was here."

Epps caught Fred's eye. "When we were leaving camp, after I'd taken the picture, the - well, its eyes followed me until I got under the tanks." He lifted the imager. "I think it saw this. And it'll probably be wanting it destroyed if it's really trying to hide its existence."

Sean paced, fist nervously clawing through his blonde locks and taking deep breaths. "Okay, no. I can accept that we got trashed and that we need to get that shot to pentagon, but 'wanting' 'seeing'? It was a robot. Robots are not people. They can't think. They can't - Someone was behind the attack! Russia or China or one of those - "

"It wasn't a country." Fred shifted at the sudden attention brought to him, but continued. "No one has that kind of technology in robotics. Not that movement, not... That transformation sequence from full-functional MH 53 to a bipedal being is too complex for anything on Earth to have come up with."

Donnelly huffed, shoulders dropping. Fred narrowed his eyes at the obvious dismissal. "Oh, not the little green - "

"No. Not little or green. Mechanical. Non-Biological, however you want to put it. They are alive, they feel pain, they have a mission. Just think about it."

"Well,_ I'm_ thinking your teammate has been in the sun too long, Lennox." Sean raised his hands in defense when said captain glared at him. "Just saying. Continue on, Fritzer."

Fred rolled his eyes. "Look. SOCCENT is an out of the way base that has access to our country's entire information network. Perfect for gathering high profile information about us with only moderate resistance."

"Okay, fine." Epps waved off the incredulous looks and focused on the mechanic. "Look, he's the reason we made it out of base with weapons and water, try to have an open mind, yeah? So, let's say that thing _was_ a... robotic alien. Why would it come to earth? Their technology is probably way more advanced than ours and our planet is probably way out of the way for them to stop by just to destroy one base."

"Exactly." Fred stood, following Will and Mahfouz who had begun walking toward the far off village where they could phone in their superiors. "They would have all the technology they need and stealing ours would be useless. That means that there is something on earth that we have and they don't, that they're missing."

Jalmar moved out from behind Sean, brows furrowed. "Something with that kind of fire power needs something from _here_?"

"Interior decorating tips?" Donnelly nodded at the looks given to him. "Yeah, I know, not the time to joke..." A moment passed in silence. "Shit it's hot out here."

Epps _glared_. "Again with the commentary! We _know_ it's hot!"

* * *

Will kept his eyes on the horizon, Mahfouz's village within running distance now. He trusted his men and the stragglers he knew with a vague memory to keep an eye out for movement in the surrounding areas. Being out in the open - no radio, no detection capabilities aside from their own eyes, no idea what they were really up against - unnerved him more than he would ever admit. He was responsible for everyone on this team, their lives and whether they made it home with all limbs in tact. SOCCENT housed over two hundred men and all that was left was this small group of possible alien hostility survivors led by a mere captain.

He wished he could be at home. Holding Sarah close and finally, _finally_ seeing his baby girl in person and cradling her in his arms. He needed to come home. He didn't want to be the father she never met, only hearing empty stories about.

Glancing full sweep around the perimeter, he kept moving forward, Mahfouz a few feet behind him, clinging to Fred's vest. God, he had to give the kid credit, paranoid or not, he saved their asses. They wouldn't have half as much ammo as they did if he hadn't started packing the minute he even slightly suspected something was wrong.

"Let's hope this telephone line works 'cause otherwise we are screwed." Always the blunt one, Epps.

Suddenly, the ground _moved_, rumbling as though something was _underneath_ it. "Fuck - _digger_! Eyes down!" Everyone was tense, guns and eyes pointed at the sand as they turned round and round, trying to catch sight of anything moving - metal - to shoot at. Just as abruptly, the sound halted. The rusting tower to their right flank, behind Fig, collapsed with a screeching bang.

"You okay?"

Fig glared at Donnelly, still annoyed from earlier no doubt. "_That sign nearly broke my ass and you're wondering whether I'm okay? Little shit_."

Visually assessing the unharmed men, he nodded for Fred to start moving ahead with Mahfouz. "Alright, stay alert, we all have full magazines?"

"WHOA!" Twisting, Will just dodged away from the large metal spike - tail? - set on impaling him from behind. Gunshots rang out as the group began shooting into the sands stirred up by the _something_ traveling underneath. Oh, shit - not good, their rounds couldn't pierced deep enough to do anything!

The dust suddenly settled once more and out of his peripheral, he could see Fred scooping Mahfouz off the ground, eyes darting to possible targets. They needed to get to the village, they needed air support, big guns - _now_.

Sand burst up again, this time a large moving mass of dark metal flying out with it, giant spike-tail shooting out and impaling Donnelly, tossing him over the hill like a doll, strangled scream cut short as he hit the ground with a hollow thud -

Blank it, not now. Later. Village. Cover. Signal. Support. NOW.

"Move it, move it! Go, go, go! Fred get Mahfouz up here!"

Gunfire rang out, that same strange sliding, whirring, metal-on-metal sound echoing on their heels. The civilians in the village were evacuating, only those with guns hidden in their homes moving forward to fend off the mechanical terror scuttling toward them.

"Fig, StoneColds cover the rear! Sean, Jalmar - cover left! Eli, Epps - right! Mahfouz, where's your papa? Where's your papa?"

"Papa!" A large blast, like that of a tank cannon, slammed into a nearby house, debris flying overhead. This thing wasn't even the big one and they were outgunned! Fred abruptly dropped the small boy at his side, loading up a bulkier gun than what their team regularly used. Quickly grabbing the shouting child, Will moved toward an older man shouting Mahfouz's name in turn. He could wait to lecture his youngest soldier about sifting through stock shipments when there wasn't a threat of death over their heads.

The man brought his son into a suffocating hug, pulling him inside a run down house, Will ducking in after them. "Thank you, thank you!"

"Sir, sir, I need a phone! Telephone! You know telephone?"

Wide eyed, the man nodded, knocking over papers to pull out a small metal object."Yes! Here - cellphone!"

"Oh, thank you - stay in here, stay low!" He could hear Epps and the other men shouting outside, the dull dinging signifying that their weapons weren't doing much more than irritating the thing.

Dialing a number, he dodged the glass of the window and waited for a connection.

"Customer service -"

"I need to make an emergency Pentagon call! Now! Do you understand?"

"All long distance calls need to be paid through wire transfer. What is your credit card number?"

What? "I don't have a credit card! I need to speak with the Pentagon, this is an emergency!"

"Sir, I'm going to ask you to speak into the mouthpiece very clearly."

A loud shot echoed just outside the decrepit hut, a high lurching scream following it. "I'm in the middle of a war! This is fucking ridiculous!"

"Sir, please refrain from swearing or I will hang up this call."

"What? NO! No - " Another house blew up. Gritting his teeth, Will charged out of his cover, head down, as he sidled up to his tech sergeant shooting at the metal monstrosity just beyond the rubble.

"Epps, I need a credit card! Where's your wallet?!"

"In my back pocket!" Looking down at the standard cargo pants, specially fitted to hold as much ammo as possible, Will felt the sudden urge to slam his head into a wall. Repeatedly.

"You have _ten_ back pockets!"

Not stopping his barrage of cover fire, the darker man shouted, "Left cheek! Left cheek!"

Finding it, he rattled off the numbers to the bored servicer on the phone. "Also, sir, have you heard about our new premium plus, world-service gold package?"

He was not dealing with this right now! "Just get the Pentagon on the line!"

Minutes seemed like hours as he waited for the nearest outpost of raptors to fly in range until Epps grabbed him, eyes focused. "They're bringing the rain. Target marked by orange smoke."

The roar of engines passed overhead as the ground exploded in rock and sand.

"Come on, come on, no way that thing survived that." But even as he said it, the dark, writhing form of the giant metal - scorpion? - appeared through the dust. Epps called another rain to fall, eyes locked onto the livid behemoth baring red eyes and sharp fangs at them.

The second round ended with only the tail - still coated in Donnelly's deep red blood - twitching useless and alone on the burnt sand stones.

Will internally dropped with relief, but kept his head up and searching for familiar faces. "Head count! Epps, Weasley, Fig, Stone, Cole, Wilkons, Wilder, Boyd! Call out!"

Gathering quickly to the clearing where the tail lay, Will felt a steady relief as each of his men moved into sight.

"Little help here!" Snapping his attention to Fred's call, he felt his gut clench at the limping form held up by the younger man. Fig waved him down, even as the other 6 ran behind him.

The spanish man pushed Will's fretting hands away, slapping the back of Fred's head. "Now look what you did, _Mocoso_. Calm yourself, Will, I ain't that bad off. A glancing shot to the leg is all. I'll have a limp for a while at the worst."

Epps gave a relieved laugh, slapping the man on the shoulder and mussing up Fred's normally gravity-defying hair. "Ah, man, you scared the shit outta me. Whoo."

The group looked upward at the sound of helicoptors, still leery of their most recent rotary interaction. It was manned by a human, though, and they boarded, ready to get stateside - if not home - as soon as possible.

* * *

There were aliens. Not some slimy green-blue hoax with hicksville farmers and cropcircle theories, but real, live aliens.

And he was taking them to his house to give them his great grandfather's glasses in order to save the planet. Right.

You know, he only ever wanted to be normal. Be able to walk around and not be spat on and seen as some geeky little kid who would never get anywhere. Have a girlfriend and a nice, long life and some kids _long_ down the road. Was that too much to ask?

But now his first car turns out to be an autonomous robotic organism from the planet cybertron and considered his guardian - whatever _that_ meant. Though...he might have a girlfriend if he and Mikaela lived long enough to solidify it, but at this point, it was a real big 'if.'

So, he sat in the leather interior of the brand new 2007 camaro which used to be a '79 camaro and oh my GOD, he gave his car the equivalent of a _bath_! No! What if he touched robotic dangly bits without knowing it?! Ew - _no_ - bad images! Brain bleach!_ Brain bleach_!

"Sam?" Mikaela's blue eyes - all the Autobots had blue eyes, didn't they? - were watching him, her hand squeezing his own. He almost wished she hadn't come along, but he wasn't sure if he could have had the guts to do all this 'saving the world' stuff without her. So he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"It's alright, just a little... nervous is all. I've never had this many, uh, guests over." Guests? Oh, crap, parents! Staring at the steering wheel where the little face, the symbol of the autobots, sat he tried to address his... guardian. "Uh, Bumblebee?" Odd name for a fighter, maybe the translation was wrong?

" - _are you alright?_ - "

How smart were these guys that they could pick out speech in seconds? "Yeah, uh. Can you guys try to be quiet? When we get to my house, I mean. My - my parents are probably home and I don't want them involved in - _this_. So could you, when we get there, just all hide somewhere so they don't see you?"

"No problem, Youngling. We'll be real quiet like." Sam nearly leaped out of his skin at the deep voice - Jazz, was it? A low, spitting whine came from the radio. "Alright, alright. Chill, Bee. I didn't mean no harm. Sorry for the jump, kid. Hey, this your place?"

Yes, it was. The lights were on downstairs, meaning it was probably movie night and his mom had started drinking. All he had to do was sneak past and up to his room and get the glasses and he'd be good. Alright.

"I need five minutes, okay? Okay. Mikaela, I gotta sneak past my parents. You stay here and make sure these guys aren't seen. Okay? Not by _anyone_." She glanced from him to the group of cars and trucks parked in the street and nodded.

"Yeah, yes, alright. Okay. Just get the glasses. Go."

Moving past the garage and ducking under the windows, he made it to the screen door only to come up short, eyes wide. "Dad. Hi."

Ron Witwicky in all his stern parenting glory was standing, arms crossed, in the doorway. "Thanks for staying on my... Sam, where are your pants?"

"Pants? Oh yeah, uhh." Oh crap, the stupid mini-robot stole them! "Well, you see, I tripped and fell in a thorn bush and they - the pants - were, like, really old and they tore and I couldn't get out of the bush so I had to take them off and - " - did the ground just _move_?

"You know, I buy a lot of things for you. Food... clothes... half your car..." Sam nodded absently as he glanced behind himself where the now standing aliens were nonchalantly strolling into the tree line just out of his father's line of sight. "... I even pay to bail you out of jail and _then_ I just decide to do all your chores, too." Double crap.

"Oh, yeah, sorry. I completely - bshh. Ahh. Sorry, I'll do double tomorr-OH." Bumblebee's bright blue eyes locked with his from across the side of the house. Leaning his side against the doorway to block Ron's view, he frantically waved the bot to get back behind the wall. "Aaand the trash! I haven't taken the trash out - I'll do it right now, Dad."

But the man was trying move past the door. "Oh no no, I wouldn't want you to strain yourself. I'll do it." Sarcasm is not appreciated right now.

"NO! I won't - uh - " The trees in the neighbor's yard were moving. Mrs. Fillman was still on vacation for another few days, right? " - I won't strain myself. I _love_ taking out trash - it's great fun - in, in fact, if you do it, you'll hurt my feelings."

Ron was smiling now. "Oh _really_?"

"Promise, just... go back inside and watch TV and keep mom from breaking the good china."

"You know, _she_ wanted me to ground you..." Oh, please, let this conversation end already before the _aliens_ break something important!

"That's just another thing I owe you, that I... I love you, dad. So... _so_ much with all you do for me. Really, I do." Oh, for - Bumblebee stop staring at me and _hide_!

"Yeah... Yeah, alright. I'll be checking it in the morning, though. And get some pants on." Finally!

"Defi - soon as I take out the trash, definitely. Sleep well... handsome man!" Oh, he sucked at lying. Shutting the door, he raced behind the house where loud grumbles could be heard. Tall as they were, the Autobots only needed to step over the small fence to get into his backyard. Mikaela was following them at their feet, hands thrown up over her head as she saw him.

"What are you all doing? I told you, I told _you_ to watch - _the path_!" But the aliens weren't paying attention and Dad's prized walkway and fountains were crushed underneath a giant foot. The red and blue bot, leader of the Autobots, shrugged a bit and stepped over him.

"Oops, my bad." Sam gave a hysterical laugh at hearing such a... regal voice saying something so _normal_.

"I told you to wait! Out front! For five minutes, just five minutes!" Mikaela's hand gripped his shoulder.

"Okay, calm down. Calm down. I think they're in a bit of rush. Saving the world and whatever. Let's just go. Inside."

"UGH!" What _now_? "Wet!"

"What?" Mojo, the tiny little chatterbox, twirled through the air with a loud yelp and landed on his side a few feet away. The black painted one - Ironass or something - had his hand/cannon thing out and aiming toward the little rat. "Nonono! No guns - put, put it away! Mojo, get over here!"

"You have a rodent infestation!" Note to self: make sure to run away when a robot has _that_ ugly look on their face. "Shall I terminate?"

"No, no this is Mojo - my mom's chihuahua! We _love_ chihuahuas! Right?" Mikaela rapidly nodded her head beside him, eyes wide.

"He's leaked lubricants all over my peds!" Lubri-what on his what? OH!

"H-he peed on you? Bad Mojo! In the house!"

"Bad Mojo!" Oh, God, he wished he wasn't so panicked or he'd be laughing his ass off. "That's gonna rust." Rust? It's just piss.

"Well - there's a hose over there, just wash it off. And _hide_!"

Running over to the door again, he tip toed past his parents and up the stairs. Pausing to avoid a stray t shirt, he found himself knocked into the wall.

"Sorry."

"Mikaela!" Whispering as loud as he dared, he stared dumbstruck at the beauty clinging to his back. "What are you doing in my house?"

She frowned at him, a delicate eyebrow raised. "We'll find the glasses faster with two pairs of eyes and I _really_ don't want to be left alone outside with Sir Breaks-A-Lot."

"...Point." Slipping into his small suite bedroom, he locked the door and started searching his desk and drawers. He left it on... in the backpack... where is it? It was _right here_ and now it's _not_ - shit!

"It's not... it's not here!"

Mikaela's hair smacked her face as she whirled towards him. "What? What do you mean 'it's not here'?"

Sam could feel his hands spasming as he tried to remember where he put the stupid glasses. "I mean I put them in my bag after class and brought it home and now it's not here! It's supposed to be here!"

"Well, calm down!" Mikaela moved more into the room, kneeling down on the floor. "It could have fallen out. Check under your bed or something." Nonono, bad enough with robots in the yard, he is not having a potential girlfriend find his porn stash!

"NO! I-I'll look there, you - you go over there - " He stopped, hearing the unique sound of the Autobots' transformation. Sharing a confused look with Mikaela, they moved to the window. "Oh, no."

All five were back in their car forms, parked in random parts of the yard. This was an advanced race of aliens?

"What are you doing? This is... This is not hiding! This is my backyard not a truck stop!" Oh God, he was going to have a heart attack. He couldn't handle this.

"Sam?" And now the big(est) guy was sticking his face in his window. "Have you found the glasses?"

"No, I haven't! Where - where are you standing? That's my mom's - garden! What are you - ?"

"Oh, sorry."

Sorry? He was having a panic attack! Sorry didn't do shit! "Look, I need space! Just go hide, out the yard - "

"We must have the glasses."

"I know, I know! I can't find them. I can't concentrate when you're making all this noise. You're stressing me out. It's too much! Just - give me five minutes, okay? Please, I can't - "

"Alright, alright, calm down. Autobots, fallback." Oh, good.

"Thank you, thank you. I'll find them. Just a minute. Promise." Ignoring the now much quieter conversation outside his window, he motioned Mikaela to help go over the room again. Come on, come on, bag and glasses, bag and glasses. Okay: drawers, desktop, shelving, bedspread, chair, laundry basket, shoebox, closet, aquarium -

The house shook, random stuff falling off his shelves as the light flickered and his father shouted about earthquakes downstairs. A faint sparking lit the shadows, brightening to search-light power which completely lit up his room more than he had ever seen it. Running to the window, hand attempting to block most of the blinding light, he shouted for the completely incompetent aliens to _turn it off_.

"Is he _drunk_?" Drunk? Following Mikaela's gaze, he saw the medic, Ratchet, unsteadily walking in a circle and telling Iron_hide_ to 'try that'. Try _what_? How the hell does a robot get drunk?

"Sam?"

"Sammy?"

Shit! Waving frantically out the window, he tried to yell-whisper so his parents wouldn't hear. "Get back! Hide! My parents are at the door! _Hide_!"

"Sam, why is this door locked? You know I don't like locked doors!"

"Mikaela, get - behind the desk there. Duck!"

"I'm gonna count to three, Sam!"

Quickly closing the curtains and throwing on a pair of jeans - oh, god, he'd been in his underwear around Mikaela - , he skidded to the door and swung it open, trying to act casual.

"What's up? What's with the bat?" His father blinked in surprise, shoulder still held forward in preparation of knocking down the door. Mom was just behind him, his old little league bat raised over her head. Ron moved into the room, eyes narrow.

"Who were you talking to?"

"I'm talking to you."

"We thought we heard voices. Ugh, Sammy, why are you all dirty? Is that _blood_?"

"No!" Grabbing a sweater on his desk, he faked a shiver and shrugged it on. "Ketchup! I was eating and then I remembered it was passed curfew and just came right back here without cleaning it and - "

"Where was that light coming from?" GAH, get away from the window!

"There is no light! The lights are off. You're holding two lights in your hands!"

"Don't give me that, I know what I saw and I saw a light." Why did his father choose to be perceptive _right now_?

Again, the house shook on its foundation causing his father to dive screaming into the bathtub. What were those guys doing out there? Ron made a despairing sound from the bathroom.

"Oh, no! Look at the yard. The yard is destroyed. Aww... Judy? We better call the city. We've got a blown transformer!" Nice of choice of words there, Dad. And now his mom was focusing on him again.

"I heard talking, too, Sammy. So what - "

"Hi." Gaping at the voice, he watched as his hidden possible-girlfriend stood up. "I'm Mikaela. I'm a friend of Sam's."

Judy's eyes lit up, grin nearly splitting her face.

"Ohh, haha! Sammy! Gosh, you're _gorgeous_! What a pretty girl, Ron!"

"She can hear you talking, Mom." Oh, he was not having this conversation, he needed to - glasses! "Mom, where's my back pack?"

"Hmm? Oh. It's in the kitchen, sweetie." Yes!

Speed walking down the stairs, he leaned on Mikaela's side.

"You're mom's nice."

Sam blinked. "Ah, thank you. Go talk with them, distract them. I gotta get the glasses to the guys. Okay?"

"Right."

Dodging his parent's eyes, Sam maneuvered around the living room and into the kitchen, his bag sitting innocently on the table. Ripping it open, he dug around and pulled out the black casing, barely containing a victorious shout at the find. Now to get it outside...

"Ronald Wickity?" He didn't know that voice.

"It's Witwicky. Who are you? What are you doing to the yard?" Sam inched his way to the living room, dread curling in his stomach.

"We're the government. Sector 7." Oh, shit. Oh, nonono, _please_. Why couldn't the men in black stay in the movies? The man at the door was thin and sneering, narrowed eyes darting around the entry way until they found him and lit up. Shit. "Your son is the great great grandson of Captain Archibald Wickity, is he not?" Triple shit!

Ron was still trying to correct their name's pronunciation.

"Your son filed a stolen car report last night. We believe it's involved in a national security matter."

They knew, they knew, _they knew_!

"Are you experiencing any flu-like symptoms? Aching joints? Fever?"

The head agent pushed passed his parents to stand in front of him, smiling like some demented pedophile. Mikaela tugged on his shirt.

"How are you doing, son? Is your name Sam?"

He gave a shaky nod, eyes wandering through the windows where men in hazzmat suits were tearing through the yard with what looked like metal detectors.

"Well, I need you to come with us."

Sam's vision was suddenly filled with the bulky back of an iron pressed shirt. "Way out of line, Buddy. You are not taking my son."

"Sir, I am asking politely. I suggest you don't get rough with us."

"I'm not gonna get rough with you, but I'm definitely calling the cops 'cause something fishy is going on here."

Pedo-agent was suddenly scowling, hand reaching behind him. Please, _please_ don't have a gun.

"Yeah? Well, there's something a little fishy about you, your son, your little Taco Bell dog and this whole operation you got going on here."

"What operation?"

The man sneered. "That's what we're going to find out." Another suit stepped up, whispering something which caused the head agent to freeze.

"Son, I need you step forward." All of the agents were watching him, hands on very deadly weaponry as he moved so that another, smaller metal-detector-thing was pointed at him. A high whine filled the room and the Pedo-agent smirked. "Tag 'em and bag 'em."

* * *

Sam felt sick, a hot curling mass choking him as he sat cuffed in the unmarked, black van. Mikaela was shaking beside him, face pressed into his shoulder to hide whatever emotion was on her face. He didn't want to know.

He couldn't handle this.

He could clearly remember a time in third grade when one of the kids on the playground had stolen their parent's lighter and started burning things during recess. He hated that day. One of the bigger kids had found a spider, a Daddy Longleg, and held it up to the lighter, clicking it on. It was quiet and most of the kids didn't noticed, but Sam could hear a small, high scream as the spider's legs turned to ash, body shriveling up as it burned.

Hearing that high, painful screech from Bumblebee's broken vocals as those people shot him and _froze_ him was so, so, _so_ much worse. He tried to get them away, decked a few in the face and turned one of the sprays against them, but he was just a kid. He didn't work out or know any fight moves or have anything bad ever happen to him, really. He couldn't protect anybody. Not even the mech - his guardian - that had saved his life.

A cough escaped his throat, vision blurring a bit as he leaned his head back and tried to breathe.

What was going to happen to him? To Bumblebee? To Mikaela and his parents and all the other Autobots? How was he supposed to save the world when he couldn't even save a friend?

* * *

**Author's Note**

Yeah, wow. Depressing moment with Sam there.

The fact about Daddy Longlegs is true, though. A friend of mine did it as a kid. I hate spiders - terrified of them, actually - but I would never burn one alive for fun.

And Fig lives here! Yay! If you don't know, he dies in the movie - even had a death scene before it was cut out due to time shortages.

_Mocoso_ basically means "brat"


	10. Follow You Or Follow Me

**Welcome to Hoover Dam where the sun is shining, the air is clear, and alien robots are frozen in cryogenic stasis**

**::...::** comm link

_" - radio - "_

**Cybertronian**

* * *

_Chapter 10 : Follow You or Follow Me_

* * *

The debriefing was short and to the point, all manner of government personnel running about and shouting readings. Will barely managed to grab hold of a runner to get the team some proper uniforms (their old ones worn from the battle in Qatar) before one of the onsite personnel pulled him aside to a meeting.

Not long after, the lights in the hanger flickered, communications breaking down one by one until every messaging system on the planet had blacked out. Long range, anyway; short wave radios would probably still work. And Morse code.

Their team were already dressed in their 'new' uniforms and preparing to leave when Will came barreling back into the room, pocketing a few rounds of ammo. A laminated ID hung from his neck. "We're heading out. New assignment, high profile." Here, he paused, locking eyes with the youngest member of the group. "And, Fritz? Try not to irritate these guys. We got 10 minutes."

Rolling his eyes, Fred shrugged on the Sabot round launcher he managed to convinced one of the resident weapon holders to part with. No way was he going to wander around with just the dinky little hand guns they were given. Will led them outside of the base onto tarmac, pace quick and posture straight as he flashed his 'VIP' pass at the surrounding suits. Fig took up the march beside him, still limping a bit despite the generous amount pain medication in his system. The Spaniard nodded his head at the unmarked, guarded helicopter settled on the landing pad, a smirk on his lips.

"_Your alien theory is looking more and more realistic_."

The flight was long and consisted of whispered strategies and blank looks from the MIB wannabes who wouldn't tell them just where the hell they were going in first place. All they knew was that Keller asked for them and that what they were about to see was to be held in the strictest confidence. It would've been more dignified if they had just come out with a bad italian accent and threatened to sink them in a river.

Hours later, they landed. Mountains on all sides and a large river below the biggest dam he had ever seen. Fred shook his head. It figured one the biggest construction projects in last hundred years was done to hide something. Question was, why did it need to be so big?

Lined up, they saluted as Keller and a small group of civilians passed, two of which were teenagers who looked as though they hadn't showered in a few days. Neither of them were relaxed either, despite having such a large escort around them. They didn't feel safe with the military.

Two men, one obviously the leader of this base and the other seeming a rather unstable type who kept glaring at the teenagers, waved them down a flight of stairs to the open area at the bottom of the dam. The wormy looking MIB finally spoke up, voice giddy.

"All right, here's the situation. You've all had direct contact with the NBEs."

"NBE's?"

"Non-Biological Extraterrestrials." Epps rolled his eyes at him as Worm glanced back with a smirk.

"Very good. Keeping up with the acronyms. Now, what you're about to see is totally classified. You can never mention it outside of these walls." If this man's eyes opened any wider, they'll end up on the floor.

The group walked into one of the large pipes leading inside the dam. Only taking a few turns, the standard, dungeon-like hall suddenly opened up into an area full of scientists, hazmat suits and all. At the back of the room, on display, was a humanoid robotic creature, similar to what they had seen at SOCCENT except much, _much_ bigger. There were scaffolds surrounding the robot and twisting pipes pumping out cold wafting smoke. Nitrogen. They needed to keep it frozen. That meant it wasn't dead. Fuck.

"Dear God. What is this?" And that was the Secretary of Defense, which meant this was never told to the important people. An independent, unregulated group of scientists with the power to call in high profile government officials was their only lead on an alien attack/ invasion.

Worm's stance was proud, eye manic with glee as he looked at the 35+ foot behemoth, but it was the leader, Banacheck, who answered.

"We think that when he made his approach over the north pole, our gravitational field screwed up his telemetry. He crashed in the ice, probably a few thousand years ago. We shipped him here to this facility in 1934. We call him NBE One."

A boy, one of the teenagers from outside, stepped forward, glaring sideways at Worm.

"Well, _sir_, I don't mean to correct you on everything you think you know, but _that _guy? That's Megatron. He's the leader of the Decepticons."

Worm's eye were just as cold as he moved in front of the boy. "He's been in cryostasis since 1935. Your great-great-grandfather made one of the greatest discoveries in the history of mankind. Fact is, you're looking at the source of the modern age, the microchip, lasers, spaceflight, cars, all reverse-engineered by studying him. NBE One. That's what _we_ call it."

Fred felt himself go slack. They just said that everyone here had contact with these mechs and yet they are ignoring the one person who had apparently found a friendly one? What?

"And you didn't think the United States military might need to know that you're keeping a hostile alien robot frozen in the basement?" Keller's voice barely registered as he stared at the imposing form of 'Megatron.' Leader of a... faction of some sort. If there's a faction, that means they have a goal and a counter faction. That implies sentience. Humans were keeping the leader of an alien race locked up and very possibly in pain as being frozen from the inside out is probably not the most pleasant experience.

"Until these events, we had no credible threat to national security."

He stepped up beside Will, sending him an incredulous look. What the _hell_?

Keller looked just as confused. "No - ? Well, guess what? Now you've got one! What are they even doing here?"

"They want the Allspark." Again, the teen was standing straight, barely flinching at the fierce glare Worm kept sending him. Seeing the obvious hostility, Fred moved, standing between the two with his back to Worm.

"First off, what is that? Secondly, why do they want it and what is it doing here?" Surprised green eyes - earth green - blinked, before focusing again, determined.

"It, uh, the Allspark is a cube thing. It's, like, how they create - it creates life. Their life. But NBE aka _Megatron_, the harbinger of death, wanted it to make a bigger army or something, so the Autobots - the _good guys_ - sent it away and it landed here. And now they're looking for it. The decepticons are looking for it." Fred wondered at the emphasis on 'good guys' and nodded.

"You're sure about that?" The head man, Banachek, shared a meaningful glance with Worm.

Something dawned on the kid. "You know where it is, don't you?"

Again, the group was led through dark tunnels until they reached an office-like room, a glass window looking out into a domed chamber where a giant, metal cube with complex hieroglyphs - language - written across its surface. Worm's monologue swept past him. The 'bad guys' goal was within walking distance of their leader's prison. How did they not think of this as a security risk? Did they have fail-safes? Back up generators? Emergency escape routes?

"Wait, back up. You said the dam hides the Cube's energy. What kind exactly?" Energy? The kid said it created life. But if it created life... then...

Before his thoughts could catch up, the small group of soldiers and civilians were locked in a metal cell, a small glass casing in the center. Worm handed out black, welding-esque goggles and stood next to a large flip switch, unsettling sneer sent toward the box.

"Anybody have any mechanical devices? BlackBerry? Key alarm? Cell phone?" A college age guy in a jersey tossed over a small nokia phone, exchanging a look with the blonde haired girl who had asked about the energy. Worm cackled at the phone, mumbling to himself as he placed it inside the box. Fred felt a twisting in his stomach, the word 'life' echoing over and over...

"We're able to take the Cube's radiation..." Worm held out a remote toward the box. "...and funnel it into that box. Watch this."

The system of cables above them flashed with electricity, traveling into the container and shocking the phone. A moment passed as the metal vibrated before bursting outward and folding into a vaguely humanoid looking... being. Small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. Purple optics rapidly took them in, the sight of giant, unfamiliar beings surrounding it and watching it while trapped inside a small box. Purple bleeded into red and small, pea-shooter type guns began barraging the glass, incomprehensible language sputtering out of its mouth.

It took a moment to understand, but when he realized the guns could break the glass given a few more seconds and saw Worm's hand still gripping the button to the box, Fred cursed and did something so incredibly stupid that George would no doubt congratulate him on it.

He opened the lid.

Ignoring the simultaneous jumps back and shouts of the surrounding humans, the little metal humanoid paused in its rampage to stare at the fleshy hands splayed palm up and no weapons in sight. Red flickered to purple again and the little thing flung itself out the latch and onto Fred's shirt, chittering rapidly up at him. He nodded to it, covering its form with a hand before glancing upwards.

He only had a moment to assess the looks given to him - anger, shock, awe, confusion - when the ground shook, the sound of shrieking metal and sparks echoing from outside the enclosed room.

"Decepticons."

The little nokia-turned-robot was quickly dismissed in favor finding an arms room, Fig managing to give him an exasperated eye roll as they set about loading weapons and pouring over a map of the area to plan out an escape route. The kid was hounding on Worm, all traces of meekness forgotten as he shouted.

"I need you to let Bee go! I need you to let him out! He's gonna know what to do with the cube!"

"You mean your car? It's confiscated."

Fred stopped, head whipping to the argument. The kid and the other teen, a girl, were surrounding the agent, glaring.

"Then unconfiscate it!"

"We don't know what'll happen if we let that thing out - "

"No, _you_ don't know! I do! Get him out here!"

Catching Will's eye, he nodded to his chest pocket where the little bot had made a home in, optics peeking out suspiciously.

Will was across the room with a gun on the agent before he could blink. "Get the kid his car."

As the other Suits moved, their team of nine went on defense, knocking them down, guns out. Worm was shouting at them to stop, eyes wide and hands held out. When the room quieted, Will repeated his 'request.' Worm let out a breathy laugh.

"Hey, now, d-drop your weapon, soldier. There's an alien war going on - are you really gonna shoot me?" Will and Epps shared a look.

"Well, we ain't your soldiers and we didn't exactly ask to be here."

"I'm ordering you under S-Seven executive jurisdiction - "

Epps smirked. "S-7 don't exist."

"Right. And we don't take orders from people that don't exist." Worm's eyes were switching from both men, a forced smile plastered on his face.

"I-I'm going to count to five, now - "

"And I'm gonna count to three."

Keller moved forward, giving the agent a decidedly unfriendly look.

"Simmons, I'd do what they say. Losing isn't really an option for these guys."

Paling, Simmons gave a short nod, back straightening in an attempt to save face. It didn't work. "Fine. You wanna place the fate of the world on the kid's Camaro, be my guest."

As soon as the brief directions were said, The kid and his girlfriend were off at a dead run. Giving a nod to Will, Fred ran after them, easily dodging the dam's frantic personnel. Not a minute later, he began to hear distant warbling shrieks, causing the little bot in his pocket to quiver. He could hear the kid screaming, too.

"Nonono - STOP! Stop! No! Please, _stop_! Get away!"

Fred's eyes widen at the scene. There was a large metal slab near the back of the chamber, and on top of it, chained down, was a 15 foot, bright yellow bot, blue optics trained on the kids, seemingly trying to move toward them. Quickly cocking his automatic, he set forward, pushing past and throwing down personnel still attempting to subdue the shrieking - _screaming_ bot.

"Let him go! Get the chains off - _now_! Get 'em off! Move it!" Seeing one of the agents trying to pull the kid back, he knocked the butt of the gun into his head. He whirled around, taking aim. "Anyone else?!" Personnel froze, hands held high. Fred jerked his head to the side. "No? Good. Let him go. _Now_."

Once the chains were loosened, the bot sprang up, a mask of some sort falling over his face. A large hand carefully pulled the two kids to him as an arm reconfigured into a humming cannon of some sort, sweeping full-circle at the surrounding agents. A group of footsteps abruptly stopped somewhere behind him, signifying his team's arrival.

"Bee, Bee! It's alright. Are you alright? You hurt?" The bot briefly looked down before snapping back up when Banachek tried to step forward. "No, no, don't worry about them!" Kid caught his eyes, asking. Fred nodded, waving at the other people to back up. "They're with us, they're gonna help us. The Allspark's here, but so is Megatron. I'll take you to it. We need to get it out, right? To Optimus?"

Cautiously, the bot stood, cannon changing back into a hand as he stared hard at Fred, the closest human to him aside from the teens.

"I swear on my life, I won't hurt you or your kids here." With a high whistle, the nokia bot popped out of his shirt, staring up at the larger, wide optic-ed bot and chittering excitedly. "It'd be a bit hypocritical if I did, don't you think?"

* * *

Sam felt so relieved at seeing Bee standing and walking around that he didn't even protest when the bot scooped both him and Mikaela up off the ground and carried them to where the cube was. And it was just his positioning that made it look like he was hugging the bot's front. Really.

Looking down at the odd troop of soldiers positioned around them like armed guards, he let his eyes rest on the red-haired guy, not much older than him, that had dove in to this world of aliens without hesitating. Sam had met the Autobots in person and hadn't even thought about just what they meant by the Allspark 'bringing life' to earth's machines. Seeing the freaky, red eyed robot shooting at the glass, he thought it was a monster. But as soon as the Flame haired man opened the door, inviting the thing out, its eyes had changed color and clung to him like Sam used to do when he hadn't seen his father for a few days. It was a _kid_. Megatron wanted to make an army of _kids_?

Bumblebee seemed just as surprised as him when the little phone bot popped out of the man's shirt and started chittering - _talking_ to him. Whatever it said must have been important because that was when Bee scooped him and Mikaela up to get the Allspark.

And Sam could see why the dam had to be built _around_ the cube. It was too big for even Optimus to lift! Finding himself on the ground again, he shuffled over to the redhead and watched as Bee _cooed_ at the cube before touching it, sending sparking arcs of blue light across its surface. Suddenly, with the same familiar sliding sounds as the Autobots' transformations, the cube shrunk like a movie in reverse until Bee could hold it with just two fingers.

Blue eyes turned to him, placing the small metal life-bringer into his hands. It was surprisingly warm, almost like it was excited.

" -_ Message from Starfleet, Captain - time to regroup_ - "

Another of the soldiers stepped forward, placing a hand on the redhead's shoulder. "He's right. We stay here and we're screwed with Megatron in the other hangar. There's a city 22 miles east, evacuated because of a factory explosion or something. We can sneak the cube there and hide until we get hold of Air force to help bring the decepticons down." As the man, probably a general with how he ordered everyone around, gave everyone a task to do, Bumblebee transformed into his camaro form, door opening for him.

The ride through the dam was quick, and when they finally made it out into the sunlight, Sam could feel himself tense as the damage done to the dam became more obvious: whole chunks of columns and mountains fallen to rubble. Just as they turned onto the road, there was a quick knock on the door.

The redhaired man was crouched outside the window, dangerous looking gun in hand. "Mission city is down that road, go straight and take the third exit to your left. There shouldn't be much traffic, if at all, but you'll be in a straightaway - no cover - so drive fast and keep your eyes peeled. We'll be right behind you, Kid."

The man stood to leave. "My name's Sam! Witwicky. An-and this is Mikaela - and Bumblebee, my guardian." The man smiled a bit, blue eyes - almost as blue as Bee's - flickering up to the sky and back.

"Fred Weasley. We'll introduce ourselves properly after all this is over, alright Sam?" And he left.

The battle was starting.

* * *

**Author's Note**

I like my little nokia bot. Don't ask to name it, Fred already has and he won't be changing it.

I wrote this chapter in one day due to procrastinating on an important essay due... tonight. My motivation, people.

Also, I changed a bit about Mission City. It's kind of weird, isn't it? There is a battle going on for an important alien artifact and the soldiers' first idea is to hide it in a heavily populated city? I do the like the city fighting, though, so made what I hope was a reasonable excuse for them going there.


	11. Urban Warfare

**Merry late Christmas/Other holidays and a Happy New Year. Vacations make me lazy... I apologize...**

::...:: comm link

**Cybertronian**

* * *

_Chapter 11 : Urban Warfare_

* * *

Ironhide could feel the heat of Earth's star on his hood and the dirt shifting below his bulk as they traveled down the long stretch of road, ignoring the speed limit once the human traffic had been left behind. Optimus was at the front of their company, leading them onward with the coordinates of the Allspark; Ratchet took the end of their line and Jazz was constantly changing positions from in front of Optimus to beside Ironhide and even disappearing from sight all together at times.

All this was only vaguely acknowledged as the weapons specialist drove on, grumbling angrily to himself. Bumblebee could take care of himself, he knew that. He'd been the youngling's guardian since before the scout could even reach his knee joints; had trained the bot himself. That didn't take away the fact they had essentially abandoned one of their last younglings to violent humans.

But Optimus was his Prime. And he was right. As usual. If the Allspark fell into decepticon hands, things would only get worse for them. Of course, it helped knowing that once they found the cube, all of their energy would immediately go toward finding Bumblebee... and his charges. He let his engine rumble at the thought. Little Bee had his own 'little ones' to look after now. Fragile organics at that.

::**How much further we got, Prime?**:: Jazz's steady voice filtered through the comms. Steady, but impatient. Once they found the cube, he would be the first to head out to find Bumblebee, right after Ironhide. It was odd to think about, but looking back, most of the autobots at the time helped raise Bumblebee in some way or another. When they returned to base after a violent fire fight, covered in energon and injuries, they got cleaned up and not a joor later could be found playing hide and seek with the sparkling. It must've been quite a sight.

Optimus' voice was firm when he answered. ::**Another 15 miles, Jazz**.::

A high pitched wave of static feedback abruptly cracked through the comm, nearly causing Ironhide to swerve off the road. ::**The _pit_ was that?**::

Before the others could reply, a new voice broke through the white noise.

::**Hey, guys!**::

::**BUMBLEBEE!**:: Oh, thank Primus. The youngling's warm vocals came through the transmission strong and urgent. He was alright. All of them were quickly rendered speechless at the next words spoken by the formerly missing bot.

::**I found the Allspark!**::

Jazz gave a low whistle through the comms. ::**Whoa, younglin' what do ya mean you found it? You don't even have the coordinates.**::

::**It was with the humans. Sam and Mikaela brought me to it.**::

Ratchet swerved in at the mention, cutting into the conversation. ::**They're with you? Are any of you damaged?**::

When Bumblebee didn't answer immediately, the relief of hearing his voice vanished. Ratchet _growled_.

::**What. Happened.**:: A nervous squeak came from Bumblebee's part of the link.

::**No, no, we're fine, really! The kids' bodies are producing excess adrenaline and I'm a little cold, but driving's warming me up real fast. Sam got me out before the humans could really do anything more than poke at me.**::

::**I'll poke at _them_. See how they like it...**:: Ratchet continued to grumble to himself, but was no longer shaking on his axles. Optimus continued the conversation before the medic could find any more questions to ask.

::**Status report, w****here are you heading? D**o we have allies among the humans?::

Bumblebee gave an affirmative whirr. ::**Yup. A group of soldiers. They're from a different unit than Sector-7 and Sam convinced them to help out.::** The scout suddenly laughed. ::**One of them has a sparkling with him! Small enough to fit in a human** **hand.**::

Ironhide's spark gave a deep pulse, the silence on the link barely noticeable. A sparkling? The last sparkling he had seen was Bumblebee, near the beginning of the war. What on Cybertron was a sparkling doing on Earth? Ratchet's voice was suddenly vibrant.

::**Are you certain?** **Mech or femme? Is it undamaged? Why was it with a human? What's the human look like? Can we trust them?**::

Each of them eagerly awaited the answers, speeds picking up a notch and causing the dust on the road to billow up behind them. ::**Um, mech, I think. The little guy's speech was simple and really fast, but I understood most of it. It was only created today and one particular human looked friendliest so he hid in his shirt pocket. The human is a young adult male, a bit older than Sam, with blue eyes, a metal piercing in his left optical ridge and _really_ red cranial hair. Introduced himself as Fred Weasley.**::

::**Fred is a shortened name for Frederick, like Sam is for Samuel -** ::

Ironhide interrupted Ratchet's sudden interest in human designations. ::**Is he with you?**::

::**Well, no. But he's one of the soldiers that helped me get the cube so he should be... Yes, he's in one of the vehicles behind me. Hey! You can see us now!**::

Focusing back on the road, Ironhide saw the bright yellow of Bumblebee's alt mode, a trail of small, combat-modified off terrain vehicles following not far behind. Optimus sent out a command as they passed, the four simultaneously turning around to follow the scout, the faces of Sam and Mikaela peeking out his front window.

Jazz moved alongside the youngling. ::**Where we headin', Bee?**::

::**A previously evacuated human city 10 miles ahead. The humans are calling in air support; their own version of ****Seekers**.:: Abruptly, the scout began cursing furiously at himself. Offset by the sudden mood change, Jazz sent out a questioning ping. When Bumblebee responded, there was an odd sheepishness to him. ::**Uh... on a side note, I've found Megatron... in the hanger beside the Allspark, so... there's that.**::

Ironhide didn't bother sounding surprised. ::**Frag.**::

* * *

Even in the midst of an impending battle of 'epic' proportions, Fred could appreciate the car models the other 'Autobots' chose as their... disguises. The Semi and Topkick trucks were probably the heavy hitters, the Rescue Hummer obviously their equivalent of a medic, and the Solstice a more subtle fighter or scout similar to Bumblebee. Odd name that - possibly lost in translation somewhere.

The sound of a much louder engine made him twist around to look through the modified jeep's open back. An off yellow Buffalo MRAP was speeding after them, a black and white police mustang just behind it. Fred checked the speedometer: 94. Most construction vehicles could barely hit 40. Human ones, anyway.

Sticking his head out the window, he tried to yell loud enough for the rest of the team to hear.

"Decepticons incoming! Combat and heavy hitter flanking the rear!"

Ahead, the Autobots' formation adjusted to allow the blue and red flame decal semi to fall back. Grinding metal alerted everyone to the rapid shifting of the Buffalo into a pair of arms, legs, and a red-eyed head. Just as swiftly, the semi exploded outward to shift into its bipedal form with a growl. Gaining foothold, the former crane-like vehicle tackled the slightly smaller mech off the overpass and out of sight.

Jalmar, seated just in front of him, nodded at another exit where the mustang had turned. "Where do you think that one's going?"

Fred frowned. "The scenic route. Keep an eye out."

With no more attacks on the road, their parade of rather oddly grouped cars and trucks quickly pulled up and bulldozed over the flimsy chain-link fence blocking off Mission City from the outside. Passing through dead traffic lights and empty streets, no humans could be seen, only the remaining scattered belongings of the frantic evacuation. Driving around, the group slowed as they passed technology inclined signs only to continue on when it became apparent that most of them had either been completely emptied by the owners or raided by thieves. It was because of this that when the group drove by a decrepit looking pawn shop, an irritated Epps vaulted from one of the moving vehicles.

For a moment, Will could only stare. "What the hell, Epps?!"

"I'll be right back! Keep movin'!"

The remaining men exchanged uncertain glances as they continued driving down the street, muffled crashing sounds echoing from the store.

Eventually, Epps reappeared from out of the store front, cursing as he leaped back into Will's car, bulky black radios in hand. "Cheap ass mother... old pieces of... Dinosaur model..."

Will waved a hand uselessly. "Whatever you're grumbling about, stop. We need a signal _now_. Airforce should be coming in soon."

"I'll only get 20-30 miles on this - dammit."

With a quiet whistle, a small head popped out of Fred's pocket, purple eyes looking around at the surrounding cars and soldiers, all carrying some type of weaponry. A few sliding shifts later and the little bot had its small guns aimed toward the nearby Topkick. It fired.

Fred winced and pushed the little one back into its hidey-hole, giving it a stern look. "Loki, no shooting at friendlies!"

"'Loki?'" Jalmar was sending him an incredulous look from the front seat, absentmindedly checking his ammo supply. "You _named_ the little guy?"

"Well, I'm not gonna keeping calling him 'It'."

A fist banged against their side door, causing them and Sean (who was driving) to flinch, aiming their guns and... Why did Sean have a switchblade? Epps raised a brow at them from the next car over. "Okay, not to interrupt your little argument, but paranoid defensive tactics would be just a tad bit more useful right now."

The telltale sound of a jet engine passed overhead, causing Will to order a halt, Epps speaking rapidly into his transmitter. Each of the four sentient cars rapidly shifted into bipedal forms, taking up a perimeter, though the black topkick kept an optic on him. Or, more likely, the jittery little kid he was carrying around in his pocket.

Fred refocused on the surroundings, 10-15 story buildings on all sides (cover), vacant cars (more cover), all guns loaded with sabot rounds, two civilians with the 'Allspark', F-22 flying in low...

A lone F-22 flying below building height when the nearest base was at least a 15 minute flight away.

"Don't pop smoke!" Snatching the flares from Jon and Victor, he pulled the two teens over to a store front. Bumblebee stepped over an abandoned car to follow, a deep whirr calling out at them.

Will gave a frustrated groan. "_Fritz!_ We need - "

"Don't 'Fritz' me! F-22's are supposed to stay in v formations and over building height at all times until ground troops directly signal them!" Fred pointed up at the single jet circling above them. "_That_ is not airforce."

A pause, Epps glaring uncertainly at his transmitter. The topkick abruptly configured his arms into glowing cannons, a rush of what Fred could only assume as their language grinding out. "It's Starscream!"

He hated it when he was right.

Their group fell back as the jet dove down, having spotted their movements in the abandoned city. Topkick and Bumblebee overturned a truck as a shield for them, the medic and Solstice diving into alleyways, each holding a rotating saw and arm cannon respectively.

If they weren't sure whether the jet was human or alien, the explosion of cannon fire clarified it in the loudest and most painful way possible. The resultant shockwave blew Fred down a block, curled tightly to avoid serious injury both to himself and the small, squealing ball near his chest.

The landing was hard, but all he could feel from it was the lack of air. It took longer than was probably healthy to stand. His hearing was muffled and the city blurred in and out as he tried to remember which direction he'd flown from. Loki had come out and perched himself on his shoulder, guns out and chattering angrily upwards. Fred snorted.

Cute kid.

* * *

It hurt. God it hurt. He could feel every muscle screaming at him as he fought to to breathe, to stand, to see through the smoke and remains of what had been a store front. A soft hand grabbed his own and suddenly, Mikaela was there, kneeling in front him and pulling him up. Her clothes were a mess, covered in dirt and small smears of blood, her left sleeve ripped off altogether.

Sam nearly fell back down when he put his weight on his right leg, ankle giving an angry throb. Instead, he ignored it and stood, looking around the chunks of concrete and running soldiers to find a flash of bright, blinding yellow. A scrape of metal had him twisting around, heart pounding.

"Oh, God. Oh, no, no, Bee... " Bumblebee warbled, body shifting forward only to catch himself, unable to stand - he had no legs to lift him up. Yellow armor was scorched black and warped at some points. If it was anything like skin, he had to be in pain. "Ratchet!"

Placing his hands on Bumblebee's shoulder, he tried to make sense of his injuries. His legs - oh, God, oh, no - were blown off around the knee where a steady trail of bluish liquid was pouring out. Could he bleed out like this? "Don't move, don't move! Ratchet, get over here!"

"I am." Sam felt himself lifted up and set beside Mikaela, Ratchet's bright bulk kneeling next to Bumblebee's legs, a machine of some sort in his hand. Bumblebee was still watching him.

Just as Ratchet stopped the bleeding and leaned back, the ground exploded in rubble and heat and fire. Sam and Mikaela were quickly stuffed under Bumblebee's chest as Ratchet shouted in violent clicks and growls to the flying 'Starscream'. Peeking through a yellow arm, he could see a large tank running over chunks of car, the soldiers firing at it until Jazz appeared, jumping on top and firing off shots until it transformed into a decepticon nearly twice his own height. Ratchet leapt up as the silver bot was thrown in to a building, running down the street behind Ironhide and toward the gunfire.

Sam's attention was drawn back when a large hand began pushing him away, in the opposite direction of the fight. "Wha - No. No! I'm not leaving you here alone!"

Blue eyes drifted down, metal hand lifting up and opening in front of him. The shining surface of the Allspark looked back at him. The cube, the life-bringer. It needed to be kept safe. Away from the decepticons. Bumblebee pushed it into his hands, giving a slow nod.

"Sam!" Twisting, he watched as Mikaela - when had she left? - parked a tow truck beside them, pulling a string of chains from the back. "Help me hook him up."

* * *

Getting separated from his squad was one of the stupidest mistakes he could have made aside from painting on a target and shouting 'kill me!', but it was too late to change it.

So Fred ran - weaving and ducking past the building fodder knocked down by the randomly shooting M1A1 Abrams Tank and F-22 fighter jet. He admitted that his lung capacity was probably a great asset in winning track races in highschool, but when running in a city while dodging debris and gunfire, it could only help so much.

Diving behind an overturned minivan, he began reattaching the multiple pieces of a rocket launcher he 'borrowed' from S-7's armory. All he had to do was replace the normal chemical mix of explosives with a compact sabot round and he had a long range decepticon killer.

Aiming the launcher over the make-shift shield, he locked on to the former-tank a few blocks down only to jump back at the wall of rubble falling in his line of sight. Loki screeched by his ear, forcing him to look up onto a building where the largest mech so far, Megatron himself, stood, foot pressing down on a much smaller, silver - the Solstice? - bot. As brave as it was for the guy to keep shooting, it was painfully obviously that it just was not going to cut it.

Stuffing Loki back into his shirt, he changed targets and aimed up at the large mech. When the smaller bot was tossed up, dark hands making to pull a wishbone move, Fred fired, immediately turning and running into a store without checking whether the shell would hit its mark.

All too soon the expected blast went off, a thundering roar of rage echoing through the streets. A rumbling THUD and growl of "Prime!" soon followed.

Counting to a minimum of 30 seconds, Fred allowed Loki to come out as he checked the sky for any more jet-formers. Seeing none, he stepped out a little further, standard sabot round gun aiming down both ends of the street. The tank had apparently moved on, gunfire distant now.

With a frantic clarity, he realized the little weight on his shoulder had disappeared. Eyes skimming the ground, he spotted the small moving form scuttling over to a pile of debris near an alley.

"Shit."

* * *

Rebooting his systems seemed to take a vorn, external sensors coming on last and bringing a piercing wave of _painpainpain_. The struts connecting his top half with his bottom half were sending zings up his spinal struts, a few of his minor energon lines leaking out. His landing was anything but soft, helm partly crashed into a hard wall and right ped crammed underneath his own weight. He released a heavy intake.

Shooting at old Megs was not his brightest idea, he didn't need nobody telling him that, but Prime still hadn't arrived and the humans sure as pit couldn't take him on. Of course, he wasn't expecting the sudden joyride to the top of a tower or playing the part of a mountain while the insane fragger did a victory pose.

Nevertheless, he held strong, shooting up at the furious red optics, distracting him so that he wouldn't go after the others - after the Allspark - until Optimus could arrive.

When he felt the two much larger hands grip his frame, internals straining as they _pulled,_ Jazz had clamped down on his bonds and hoped to Primus he wouldn't take Prowler with him.

But then there was the heat of weapon fire just below him and he was released, plunging down as Megatron roared, Optimus voice just cutting through the haze of pain before his frame greeted the ground and knocked him offline.

Strange thing was, whatever weapon hit Megatron wasn't powerful enough to be from Optimus' Ion blaster or even Ratchet's Wheeljack-modified scanner-turned-gun. That only left...

"**Shiny bot get blown - BOOM! Fall - THUD! Friend of Buggy bot? Scary bot gone - you wakey now, Shiny bot! Keep gun away, no hurt. Shiny bot hurt - Loki shoot! BANG!**"

Jolting at the tiny, chittering voice, Jazz craned his neck cables to look down at his chest where the little 4 inch sparkling was skittering around, light purple optics narrowing and widening as if the little one couldn't decide whether to be friendly or suspicious. Shame to say, he couldn't think of what to do with a real, live sparkling runnin' its mouth on his chassis as if the loud explosions and gunfire in the distance weren't there at all. And did it just designate itself as 'Low key'?

"Uhhh..."

The sound of feet crunching on rock kicked his processor into gear, servo laying itself over the little one as he configured and aimed his blaster at the alley's entrance way.

A human in a green tinted uniform with bright red cranial hair, blue optics, and a circular metal piercing in his fleshy optical ridge, stopped short at the sight of the cannon, weapon held tightly in its tiny servos.

A screech of rage and light pinging sounds had him refocusing on the sparkling.

"**BANG BANG! Bad Shiny bot! Loki say no shoot! No hurt fleshy caretaker! Bad bot!**"

"Loki - _Loki_! Stop shooting at the solstice and get down from there!"

"**No! Bad bot point big gun at fleshy caretaker!**"

Jazz shuttered his optics, shaking his helm. "**Sorry 'bout that. Ah didn't know he was ya caretaker, little 'un.**" The sparkling narrowed its optics again, tiny little shoulder-mounts rotating cutely. The human - Fred Weasley, Bee had said - popped up over the side of his chassis, blue optics fixed on the sparkling like an angry creator.

"Loki, if you don't get off that mech _right now_..." 'Loki' visibly deflated, giving a last glare before hopping over and onto Fred's shoulder to pout. "Sorry, he's a little excitable. You alright?"

Jazz answered, bemused. "Well, I'm still online."

Fred's optics narrowed. "Yeah. _Sure_. What exactly did he say, anyway? He didn't use any 'bad' words, did he?"

The little one's bright purple optics widened. "**No! No bad talk! Loki don't bad talk! Nope - No lie!**"

"Nah, it's cool. He's just a lil' mad at me for pointing mah blaster at'cha." A nearby thunder of falling bricks cut the conversation short. Ignoring his frame's protesting, Jazz unfolded himself and rose to his peds. "Looks like I got more work to do. C'mon, then. Stay behind me."

Creeping through the streets, stepping over and around fallen debris, Jazz tried to find where exactly the rest of his team had gone off to, his comm link destroyed in the fall. Fred stayed right by his peds, weapon sweeping around corners whenever they changed course. The kid had spark for something so small, barely reaching past even _his_ knee joints.

Finally, they turned onto the right street, Starscream's winged form dive bombing a lightly scorched Ratchet and Ironhide while Barricade threw potshots from around corners. A small speck he identified as young Sam stumbled through their large peds and debris. Biting his glossa from swearing in front of the sparkling, he scooped up Fred and slid him into an alley, ignoring the youngling's irritated glare. "Stay here. Imma help out."

"Are you - "

Growling, Jazz dropped to one knee to look into the kid's optics. "You don't know, but this war has been goin' on for longer than ah care to count. Sparklings ain't a common thing no more, and I'll slag myself before I see one killed 'cause o' someone's stupidity. I'm trustin' you ta keep 'Low Key' here safe, you understand?"

Gaining a curt nod, Jazz stuck himself to the rubble and headed toward the fight.

* * *

How many of these guys were there?

The thought was only a passing one, a way to somehow take his attention off the fact that every single one of _them_ were very literally gunning for _him_. His feet skimmed across the ground, barely touching down before he was off again.

'You're a soldier, now!' That was what that general guy had said. And he was wasn't he? He was in a battle trying to complete his mission while staying in one piece for the good of his country - his world. Didn't that sound poetic with chunks of walls and old cars flying past, just barely missing him as he ran?

Ratchet and Ironhide were right with him, too. Shooting at the decepticons - 'cover fire!' - so they wouldn't shoot _him_.

Sam's lungs were on fire, not able to get enough air in as he ran - faster than he ever had before. His muscles were burning, too, and he was sure when this was over - would it be over? - that he would be a black and blue and green-yellow body of pain.

But he couldn't think of that now; he had to move. The jet - Starscream - flew just over him, wings nearly beheading him if he hadn't dropped. He could hear Ratchet and Ironhide shooting, shouting in pain, and then another voice, high and scratchy screamed out. Chancing a look back, Sam felt a wave of relief at the form of Jazz clinging to Starscream's wings, leaving him open to fire. Ironhide caught his eye.

"Run, Sam! Hurry!"

And he did. Eyes set on the building he was told to get to, he ran fast and hard and tried not to scream when a dark, gravely voice bellowed out from behind him.

"Give me the cube, boy!"

Forcing himself to not turn around to see what was definitely Megatron - newly unfrozen - chasing him, Sam turned a corner only to smack straight into a parked truck. He gave a strangled gasp and nearly dropped the cube when it suddenly sent a violent flash of electricity through him, heating up to almost burning - as though his cells were being lit on fire. Mindful of the large, pounding footsteps following behind him, he gritted his teeth and kept running forward where the designated building stood, large doors left open and waiting.

It was an old style construct and empty to the point that it might have been put down for reconstruction. Ignoring the rapid thumping of his heart he flew up the entryway stairs, skidding around corners to find the way up - there! The stairs were thin and metal, dusted in paint and twisting upwards. There had to be 50 flights of it going to the roof.

"**I know you are here, Fleshling!** I can smell you, boy!" Oh, fuck, fuck - shit! Megatron was on the floor below him! Even as he leapt up the stairs, banging his knees against the steps and railings when he tripped, he could hear the crash of Megatron knocking through the floors - the only way he could keep up in the small space. "**Insect! Vermin!** Maggot! **Come here!**"

Runrunrun, even if he's dizzy and tired and feeling as though his heart would burst - he needed to _run_! Higher and higher he climbed until, in what seemed like forever and no time at all, he was opening a metal door and being bathed in sunlight. The building shook violently underneath him as he moved, dodging and ducking through piping and heaters set up on the roof, eyes frantically looking upwards for helicopters: his drop off, his goal, his part in protecting the Allspark if only they could see him, find him, and take it away.

The building shook again, angry growls and violent curses echoing up from beneath the concrete under his feet.

Somebody please find him.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Does it count as a cliffhanger when you know what's going to happen next? Mostly, anyway...

More fighting and epic battles of the other soldiers next... Eventually!


	12. Frantic in the City

**I updated! It's a Valentines Day miracle!**

"_spanish_"

::...:: comm links

**Cybertronian**

******Warnings**: decepticon death, so... violence.

* * *

_Chapter 12 : Frantic In The City_

* * *

Fred glared after the silver mech, but it was half-hearted at best. He really _wasn't_ the type to put a kid in danger regardless of where they were from... Was he so obvious that what was essentially a complete stranger could blackmail him with that?

The jet-former at the fourway let out a strangled scream as Jazz jumped on top of him, clinging to his wings like a violent parody of a piggyback ride.

Danger... yeah... He would have left Loki at the dam, but he honestly trusted that whole sector of dumbasses about as far as he could throw them.

And speaking of the little hellion -

"I know you can understand me, so you better listen very closely. If you run away from me like that again, I am going to be _ground_ you until you grow to Jazz's height, understand? You could have gotten hurt." Purple optics widened, wiry arms held behind the little bot's back as it clicked innocently at him. Well, this conversation was getting nowhere fast.

Glancing up to the skyline, he pin-pointed the most likely building Will would have marked for a drop off. Ah, the tall one with the statues. Gargoyals would have been more poetic, but - eh. Skirting past the odd three-way fight (the police cruiser had seemingly disappeared along with the probably-medic while the jet kept trying to take off only for the dark former-topkick to yank it down by the ankle) he sprinted down the route Sam - and, man, did that kid look tiny running under these guys' peds - had most likely taken.

He had only run a few blocks when a voice that definitely _not_ Loki shouted out.

"**Don't come near!**" _  
_

Pausing and backtracking a few steps, Fred found himself staring at the sight of a rather... odd looking... Boombox-Bot? The little guy stood about hip height, what looked to be speakers forming mini-shields on its forearms and an assortment of colorful buttons going down its chest. Its eyes were peaking out from over a face mask - two glowing spots of deep purple, bordering on red. A squeak drew his attention to just behind the angry looking bot and to another one, trying to blend itself into the other's shadow. Almost a foot shorter, its armor was completely white, optics a light lavender as it clung to the other's back. An X-box?

Fred flinched at the excited squeal that tore into his ear. "**Hey, Hey! Friend! Sibling! What you do? I Loki! Why have gun out?**" The stereo bot seemed shocked at the nokia-bot's chatter - still rapid speed.

"**I have gun out 'cause battle, stupid-bot! Move from squishy-thing. I shoot!**"

Loki's shoulder weapons abruptly whirred online. "**NO! BAD! No shoot fleshy-caretaker! You hurt - Loki shoots! BANG!**" A translator, Fred thought dryly, would be really helpful right about now. Unfortunately, since all those who could were currently trying not to get killed (as the loud rumbling around him suggested), all the young man could do was watch the odd clicking, screeching shouting match and make sure the children - "sparklings" Jazz had said - didn't harm eachother.

"**Caretaker? How fleshy-thing caretaker?**" The Xbox bot's vocals wavered, but it shuffled out from behind the taller bot a bit, optics focusing on Fred now.

"**There bad fleshies in dark place - fleshy-caretaker there when Loki wake - let Loki out and hid Loki and let out Buggy Bot!**" The little cell phone bot had put away its cannons, vocals pitching higher. "**Caretaker give Loki Loki's name!**"

Seeing that all three mini-bots had reached some sort of agreement, Fred cleared his throat causing the two bigger ones to flinch, though it was noticeably smaller and didn't have them pulling out weapons. "Hey there. Are you two calm now?" The white bot gave a small nod. "Alright, we need to move - "

A loud crash sounded from the far end of the alley causing the odd group of four to pull out their guns. Said weapons were dropped almost immediately after hearing yet another squeaky voice.

"**Wh-who the-ere? I-I can crush! Out! I crush!**" Exchanging a look with the little bot on his shoulder, the only human on the street gave a put-upon sigh.

"Welcome to Fred's alien babysitting service. Now taking new applicants."

* * *

As he watched Sam's small, bruised form running down the street with Ironhide and Ratchet on either side of him, Bumblebee couldn't help but feel utterly useless. The battle had barely begun before his legs were blown off at the knee, rendering his mobility to nothing. A new record among decepticon battles, he was sure. Aside from that, Jazz had once again up and disappeared after being tossed into one of the buildings, the human soldiers had to pick up on defense with their tiny weaponry, and Optimus had yet to catch up with them.

And there was Sam, his ward, running for his life with the Allspark in his tiny servos.

After a good few minutes of slumping dejectedly in the tow truck's bed, the scout decided that mentally kicking himself with his non-existent legs was counterproductive. He still had a working cannon and Mikaela was with him - driving him - in her and Sam's own way of protecting him. The nagging thought that _he_ was supposed to be _their_ guardian was stubbornly ignored until the battle was over.

Speaking of the girl, not a klik later, she halted the truck in an alleyway. A glance over his shoulder and into the cab revealed her to be bashing her soft helm against the wheel, a low growling coming from her throat. Hmm. _That_ was not a response he had encountered before.

The girl froze a moment before jerking around to face him. Red rimmed blue eyes abruptly found his own and he knew. She did not want to leave. Would not run any further even though she had obviously never been in battle before. She had her resolve. But she did not have a weapon as he did, only an uncanny ability to out drive some lesser bots. And Bumblebee needed legs...

Yellow paint dented and charred and missing his legs, he searched her face a moment longer and nodded, battle mask falling firmly over his face. Mikaela grinned, a fierce look which bared all her teeth at him.

Shifting gears, she backed them out of the alley and maneuvered the truck so that Bumblebee was facing the human soldiers' fight.

"You can still shoot, right?" He answered her by re-configuring his servo into a cannon, an audio clip belting out.

" - _say hello to my little friend_ - " She gave another grin and hit the gas, easily weaving through the debris covered street. Brawl was turned away enough for them to move into range without the brute's notice, Bumblebee's cannon sending him to his knees. Quickly judging the remaining distance, the scout alternated firing off shots and sending his current "legs" warnings of where to move to avoid the return fire and falling rubble.

A shot from one of the human soldiers blinded the decepticon and allowed him to blow a hole straight through his chassis; a final, crackling scream ringing out.

Mikaela brought them to a screeching halt just before the smoldering frame. Definitely dead. The small girl slid from the truck to stand beside him, kicking a broken stone at the dead metal.

Bumblebee kept his cannon out and humming as he hunched his shoulders a bit to peer into the storefront where a group of dirt covered heads were looking out. An older man, the one that had yelled at Sam, appeared to ignore him in favor of giving Mikaela a look somewhere between angry and amazed as he stepped toward her. Giving him a faint smile, she move to meet the soldier.

"Nice shot, Bee."

* * *

There were a great many things that could have been said when the Autobot and Decepticon leaders finally met after some thousands of years of separation. In fact, if the two had not been the great leaders and enemies that they were, the reunion could have been a happy one. As it was, when red optics met blue, it was as though no time had passed at all and both mechs were colliding in a chaotic thunder of servos, swords, and, before it was ripped off and lost among the rubble, a fusion cannon.

It was at that point, in the effort of disarming the larger mech, that Optimus Prime found himself slammed bodily into one of the smaller human buildings hard enough to have it collapse onto his bulk and cause his circuits to stutter long enough for Megatron to flee from sight.

Heaving off the rubble pinning him down, Optimus quickly stood, sensors set on the larger decepticon's unique signature... farther away than he thought. Quickly heading toward the signal he contacted Ironhide's frequency.

::**Alright, Prime?**:: Heavy ex-vents could be heard through the transmission.

::**Well enough. Where is Sam?**::

::**Headin' to the building with statues on its roof.**:: Ironhide's vocals cut off, a screech of blaster fire crackling through. ::**Blast it - Megatron's followin' 'im! Starscream's keeping me and Jazz occupied here. Where are ya?**::

Optimus allowed himself only a short burst of relief at the mention of Jazz. ::**On my way.**:: Cutting the link, he swung himself up onto a rooftop, beginning a shaky race atop the city structures as he moved toward the tall building designated as the drop off. He'd have to apologize for the amount of damage being done to this settlement. It was by Primus' grace there were no civilians in the city or casualties would be far too high for his liking.

Scanning the skies, he could just see a trio of helicopters circling the building, a small movement bringing his attention to a figure he assumed to be Sam running along the rooftop. There was only a moment for him to wonder why he couldn't see the decepticon leader before a badly dented Barricade appeared on top of an adjacent building, Megatron's fusion cannon - and how did the scout get that? - shooting off just as the humans were pulling in.

Ducking to avoid the fiery blaze of falling metal, he growled as Megatron finally burst out from _inside_ the building. "Hold on, Sam!"

Judging the distance, Optimus flung himself at a neighboring structure, digging his digits into the stone as his peds gained foothold in the larger skyscraper. Distributing his weight, he began an unstable - and undignified if Ironhide were there to comment - shuffle upward to reach where he could hear Megatron's rumbling vocals.

His spark gave a jolt when the roof suddenly crumbled, blowing great chunks of concrete out and downward along with the very fragile form of Sam - small servos still gripping the Allspark to his chest.

Quickly twisting, he maneuvered himself up to catch the boy, mindful not to stop his decent too quickly and to not allow his head to hit anything. "I got you, boy."

Panicked green eyes found his own, organic pump beating rapidly. A glance skyward revealed a pair of smoldering red optics glaring down at him. Purposefully holding the boy against his chassis, shielded by his servo, he let go, rapidly scrapping down the stone walls, destroying windows and metal scaffolds in his wake.

Abruptly, he lost all footing, the heavy bulk of Megatron crashing into him. Curling inwards, the Prime shifted so that his frame would take most of the impact, only a grunt hinting at the damage dealt by the fall.

* * *

Fig felt as though he were going to burst, not just because of the tank-robot which the little girl and her legless guardian-robot killed or even the helicopter-robot that had landed on a nearby building. No. He was panicking over the stupid little idiot mechanic he had the misfortune of having wormed under his skin. After the first blast from alien-jet fire, he hadn't seen a wisp of the kid and hair that fiercely red was pretty damn hard to miss.

Out of everyone in this little squad, Fig had known the kid the longest - even before Will had picked him up. It was all the way back at a boot camp he'd been commissioned to in order to help organize the mess a previous commander had made of the place. Fred had just signed up then: still teenager-built, hair completely shaved off and no sign of the metal now openly displayed on his brow. One of the few newbies he could stand, actually (though it did help that he could speak some spanish.)

It also happened by Fig's own suggestion that the little brat was able to rank into a higher position and work with the more advanced vehicles. A few years later, Will comes strolling in all smug bragging about a new squad member and what do you know? Right behind him walked in that scrappy twig; more filled out, a few inches taller, hair grown out like a wildfire, and a shiny new piercing decorating his face.

Why the 21 year old, supposedly _new_ teammate was calling him 'Cookie' took a bit of explaining, though.

Refocusing (and ignoring the slowly building burn from his leg as the pain suppressor wore off) Fig followed after his captain and comrades as they made their way to the main fight: Megatron verses... Optimism? The drop off had failed spectacularly, too, so they would have to keep an eye out for the civilian boy Fritz had called Sam. None of them wanted the weight of a kid's death on their hands; one of the reasons Will was so short with the girl about hiding. Fat lotta good that did. Hell of a driver, though; probably had to hot-wire that truck, too.

"_Shit_." Epps' pitched hiss was only somewhat responsible for drawing his attention. The rather large thud of the helicoptor-robot that had attacked base landing not 10 feet in front of them was much more noticeable. Eli tensed up beside him, a look of seething fury settling on his normally soft features. Fig couldn't blame him; the rest of them had at least one teammate up and moving.

"Blackhawks, ETA. Echo - "

* * *

**Author's Note**

Yeah, short and sporadic chapter today, sorry. Optimus especially didn't want to be written.

The end is near... sort of.

**ABOUT GEORGE AND HARRY** : these two will make an "appearance" after the battle at some point, but I will not specify anything more than that, okay? And, yes, I am evil.


End file.
